


Words Never Spoken

by StrawberryBubbles



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Deaf Character, M/M, Multi, Oblivious, Pining, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:25:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1550369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryBubbles/pseuds/StrawberryBubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the age of eighteen the first words your soul mate will ever say to you appear etched into your skin, they stay there forever and it means everyone always knows who their soul mate is the second they exchange their first spoken words. Everyone except Enjolras. When he turned eighteen there was nothing, not a word, not even a letter. But it’s been four years, he’s adjusted, he’s accepted the fact that he doesn’t have a soul mate, won’t ever meet the love of his life, and he is fine with that. Until he meets Grantaire. Inspired by a tumblr post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Post: http://parnela-lansbury.tumblr.com/post/84263797718/kenezbian-soulmate-au-where-you-wake-up-on-your
> 
> Also I hate work titles. Chapter titles are possibly even worse, so I am dull.

Enjolras remembered when he was a kid and his mother insisted he write down the first words everyone he met said to him, made sure he didn’t lose the pieces of paper he wrote them on, she kept them in a box he was to open on his eighteenth birthday. He remembered the other kids doing the same and not understanding. His mother always said it was so that he could find his other half, but Enjolras didn’t understand this either, he was certain he was whole.

It wasn’t until he grew older and started seeing the people who had already found their soul mates that he really understood, stopped feeling so whole. Sometimes he thought maybe the idea of not being whole was conditioned into kids by society, would he really feel as though something was missing if he hadn’t been told his whole life that something was missing? Sometimes when he voiced these thoughts Combeferre would tell him to stop trying to fight battles that were not only unwinnable but non-existent. Sometimes Enjolras liked to ignore Combeferre.

He only had a week before he turned eighteen when he let himself get excited by the idea. Surely as soul mates they would have similar interests. They could take on the world together, help right wrongs and prevent injustices.

He wondered if he had already meet them. If in less than a weeks’ time the words that would appear on his skin would also be somewhere in the little wooden box where his mother had kept all the first words the same wooden box his father had found the first words of his soul mate.

There was only a day to go when he had basically constructed an entire person in his head. He had tried not too, he had really, really, tried. But then people kept asking him questions about what he hoped they would be like, and he couldn’t help but think up his perfect man.

He would be strong, and just as out-spoken as Enjolras with the same amount of passion for the idea of helping others. He would be intelligent and interested in learning for the sake of learning, not just to pass exams. He would be sweet and romantic and Enjolras would tease him for it but love him really. He wouldn’t mind when Enjolras got too busy and he would remind him to eat and sleep and take time for his friends, all things that despite his best intentions he sometimes failed to make time for. They would be perfect together.

It was the night of his birthday. He was in the bathroom and he could hear the music outside, a low thrum of base. There was knocking on the door someone calling out to him in a teasing tone but he couldn’t make out the words. There was a buzzing in his ears, an overbearing heat across his entire body that was making his eyes sting. There was worry sitting heavy and solid in his gut. But there were no words. Not one. Not even a letter.

His mother had told him to see doctor, to check if there was something wrong. His father laughed and said they probably got the date of his birth wrong and the words would show up sometime over the next week. Combeferre told him it was okay to be sad. Courfeyrac promised it didn’t mean he was anything less than anyone else.

Days passed, and then weeks, and then months, eventually years, and by the age of twenty-two he was used to it, he decided it was a good thing. He didn’t need a soul mate distracting him, he could achieve just as much without a soul mate as he could with one, if not more. He was fine. Really and truly fine. Despite what Combeferre seemed to think.

“What are you doing this Thursday?” Combeferre asked. He was leaning against Enjolras’s kitchen counter with a mug of tea in his hands, nothing about him suggested anything but friendly intentions, and yet Enjolras was suspicious. Combeferre knew he had nothing on this Thursday they had talked about it barely a week previously.

 “Nothing really,” he said cautiously, “why?”

“There’s a support meeting, for people who have lost their soul mates, I think it would be good for you to go.”

Enjolras heaved an exasperated sigh. “Combeferre - ” he started.

“I know, you’re fine, and that’s great, maybe you can help other people be fine also? Share your wisdom and so forth.”

Enjolras was being manipulated, and what was worse was that he knew it, Combeferre was usually much better at this sort of thing, the fact that he was being so obvious meant he was getting desperate. Maybe he should go, maybe it would be good.

“Is it actually a meeting this time? Last time Courfeyrac tried to get me to go to a ‘support meeting’ it was a singles mixer and it was horrible.”

“I promise it is actually a meeting.” Combeferre was looking earnest, Enjolras decided to believe him.

So that Thursday he got ready to go to the support meeting, but he was nervous. He was nervous it wasn’t actually going to be a meeting but a mixer. He was nervous about having to explain that it wasn’t that his soul mate had died or that the words were something common, but simply that he didn’t have words. So he stopped in at the Corinth. The Corinth is where his friend Bahorel works. He would give him a drink and not judge him for needing it.

When he walked in it was early in the night and pretty empty. Bahorel was bussing tables and greeted him with a shout coming over to him.

“Enjolras, my man, what are you doing here?” He pulled him in to a one armed hug, clapping him on the back.

“Just in for a quick drink.” He smiled.

“Cool, cool. Listen, my mate Grantaire is tending bar, just for half an hour, Micheal’s running late. But Grantaires deaf, he can lip read, but unless you talk sign language he won’t really be able to talk back you know? So just, if he doesn’t reply that’s why.”

Enjolras nodded “Okay sure.” He walked over towards the bar.

Grantaire was short and stocky with curly hair and tattoo’s swirling up his muscled arms into the sleeves of his t-shirt. His eyes were bright and hazel and beautiful, and his nose looked as though it had been created by someone who only had a rough idea of what a human nose was actually supposed to look like. But there was something about him that made Enjolras feel warm, it was odd. On his t-shirt he had a piece of paper attached with scrawling writing proclaiming. _“Hi, I’m R. I can’t hear a word your saying but I can lip-read, so a long as I can see your lips, I can take your order, I won’t however reply, no matter how cute you are.”_

Enjolras laughed and smiled, pointing to the paper. “Grantaire. Grand R, R, I like it. It’s very clever.” He meet the man’s eyes, who had suddenly frozen staring at Enjolras with a gaping mouth no longer drying out the glass he was holding.

Enjolras started back for a long time before he realised the man was probably waiting for his order.

“Uh, gin and tonic thanks.”

The man blinked a couple of times and then got his drink. Bringing back a pen and paper, he seemed nervous. Staring at the paper for a reasonably long time before starting to write. Enjolras watched him and waited, eventually the man turned the paper around so Enjolras could see it.

_So you are friends with Bahorel?_

The paper said, in the same scrawling writing as the paper pinned to his chest.

“Uh, yeah?”

_The paper says R, nothing about the pun._

Enjolras didn’t understand. “Which pun?”

_R=Grantaire. . .  ?_

“Oh, right, yeah, no right, Bahorel told me.” This nervousness was getting ridiculous he could barely string a coherent sentence together.

_So how do you know Bahorel?_

“Well, uh, we’re in Les Amis de L’ABC together.” Enjolras was feeling nervous and it didn’t seem to be only about the meeting.

A smirk crossed R’s face.

_Gonna save the world then are you?_

Enjolras was never sure how to handle comments like that, especially given R seemed almost disappointed by this.

“Well, we’ll do our best.”

This made R smile a sad sort of smile, he then seemed to have a thought.

_What’s your name?_

“Enjolras”

R seemed surprised.

_Enjolras? As in the fearless leader of Les Amis Enjolras._

Enjolras scowled, “Les Amis doesn’t have a leader, we all work together to try and change things for the better.”

R seemed to know he had hit a nerve, he gave what would have been a bark of laughter if any sound had come out, as it was he was silent, except for his words on the paper.

_Don’t be ridiculous, you have to have leaders, leaders are important, most people need to be told what to do or they will either do nothing or do something very harmful._

“That’s not true. We do not _need_ to be told what to do, nor do we _have to have_ leaders.” Enjolras was getting annoyed, this is ridiculous, especially considering he felt there was nothing wrong with having leaders, as long as they were fairly and democratically elected and always acted with the world’s best interests at heart.

_So what you think we could survive on anarchy? Cause that always works out so well._

Enjolras read the paper trying not to get distracted by the way the edges of R‘s face seemed to crinkle in amusement and silent laughter. Enjolras found himself trying not to smile himself, he wondered why he was enjoying this so much, why he was being contrary on purpose, to keep it going.

“There has never been a prolonged instance of anarchy for you to base that on, anarchy has never really existed so you can’t say it wouldn’t work.”

_No, you’re right there are no prolonged instances of anarchy, cause it doesn’t work, and it can’t work. Riots are the best example of anarchy in practice. People riot, they forget about the laws and the rules, no one is stopping them from doing what they want, not really. And do people take those opportunities to create a golden age of civilisation to destroy the rules that keep the rich rich and the poor the only ones working? No. They use those opportunities to loot and steal and get away with whatever they think they can get away with and know they would get arrested for in different circumstances. Anarchy has never existed and that is the reason we know it can’t work._

Enjolras was impressed. Frustrated, but impressed.

“But you can’t know that after that initial breaking free of the rules something better wouldn’t take its place. Humanity is never given the opportunity to find out. Maybe without being told from day one you _can’t_ do certain things and you _can_ do others humanity would do what was right without being told to and then maybe the idea of what is wrong would never occur to any one and we would live in a utopia.”

_But that is assuming humans are inherently good, we aren’t, if we were there wouldn’t be anything for your society to do. We’ve had thousands of years to perfect society and we’ve only allowed it to get worse and worse, humans will never do what’s ‘right’ because what’s right for one person isn’t for another, you cannot create a perfect society unless humanity stops having individuals who want different things from each other. And even if a perfect society could be reached it would certainly not be through anarchy._

The argument went on for hours. The topic of the argument changed frequently from anarchy, to how much power people really had in democracy, to the necessity of tradition and somehow they had ended up talking about the intelligence of octopodes (what, after a long argument about pluralisation and etymology, Enjolras had conceded could in fact be the correct plural of octopus). Enjolras barely even noticed R continuing to serve drinks as Enjolras read over his notes. Nor did he notice Micheals eventual arrival and he was barely aware of them moving from the bar to a table in the corner. It wasn’t until around 11 that he even really noticed any time had really passed and that was because of a text from Combeferre.

 **From Combeferre:** I’m assuming from the radio silence it either went really well or really badly, hoping for the former, but let me know.

Enjolras cringed he had completely forgotten about the meeting, it had meant to start at 8, it probably wouldn’t still be going, and even if it was, he would much prefer to stay with Grantaire. Thinking of Grantaire he looked up to see Grantaire looking at him, his face turned to a questioning expression.

“It’s my friend.” Enjolras said. “I was meant to go to this thing tonight, I missed it.”

 **To Combeferre:** Sorry, I missed it, it meets weekly right? I’ll try again next week.

When he looked back up there was a new piece of paper in front of him, with just one word on it, as opposed to the paragraph sized pieces of writing that seemed to be getting longer and longer as the night wore on.

 _Sorry_ Grantaire wrote, and he actually looked repentant as well, it made something twist in Enjolras’s gut.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said. “I didn’t actually want to go anyway.” He smiled, Grantaire smiled back and a warmth flooded Enjolras’s stomach that made him smile even wider.

“Will you come to the next meeting of Les Amis de l’BC?” Enjolras suddenly blurted unsure why it was his face this time that suddenly heated, and why he felt like Grantaire’s answer was so important.

Grantaire smiled, a small shy smile and nodded.

Enjolras was inexplicably happy with the answer and couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night.

At the end of the night Enjolras said good bye exchanging numbers with Grantaire. He gathered up all the pieces of paper Grantaire had written out his arguments on, on the pretext that he didn’t want all that paper to end up in the bin and that he would take it home to his recycling bin. No one needed to know that when he got home he put them in a box file he then placed under his bed. And if he smiled the next morning when he got a text from Grantaire, well, no one had to know that either.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire comes to his first meeting of Les Amis de l'ABC and Enjolras is confronted with some new behaviour that he doesn't understand the cause for.

Grantaire came to the next meeting.

Enjolras had gotten there almost half an hour early and found himself trying, and failing, to stop himself from looking every time someone came into the upstairs room of the Musain, where they held their weekly meetings. Combeferre and Courfeyrac kept shooting him weird looks every time his head jerked up at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

There was only a few minutes left when he heard Bahorels booming laugh coming up the stairs. The door then opened to revel Bahorel obviously laughing at something Grantaire had told him and responding in very quick sign language as Grantaire smiled beside him. Enjolras smiled as soon as he saw Grantaire, who looked around and upon seeing Enjolras, gave him a shy, almost hesitant smile.

Bahorel called everyone’s attention with a loud “Listen up assholes.” It always astounded Enjolras how Bahorel managed to make words that were usually meant as insulting sound endearing. “This is Grantaire, he is awesome, he can lip read and speak sign language but he doesn’t talk so don’t get all offended and shit if he doesn’t speak to you.”

Grantaire huffed. And signed something to Bahorel, who laughed again.

“I know you’re not a special snowflake who needs coddling, but you know I’ll deck anyone who’s a dick to you, I have to give them at least some warning.”

Another huff and more sign language.

“Yes I have to repeat everything you say, how else will they know what I’m replying to? They might think I’m insane otherwise.”

After some quick introductions were made, it turned out he actually already knew at least half the group. He works with Jehan in a second hand book store. He had taught Joly and Bossuet sign language when Bossuet lost his hearing for just over half a year, he had been able to get it back through surgery but they had stayed friends with Grantaire afterward, meaning he also knew Musichetta well. He knew Feuilly from art school. And he had grown up on the same street as Éponine. In fact the only people he didn’t really know where Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Enjolras. Enjolras found himself growing more and more disgruntled as each connection was discovered, which was ridiculous he liked his friends and he liked Grantaire, it was good they all knew each other and all got along, but there was something about the fact that almost everybody in the room knew Grantaire better than he did that irked him. In the end, instead of worrying over why this was troubling him he simply called the meeting to order. 

And it was a good meeting. Enjolras and Combeferre had worked hard on organising a schedule of volunteer opportunities that would fit in with all of Les Amis’ timetables and Enjolras was basically outlining all of the options for the different times and jobs for the charities.

Of course his eyes kept drifting over to where Grantaire was sitting, but that was only because he wanted to make sure Grantaire was enjoying his first meeting. And he got a little distracted and annoyed when Grantaire smiled, but that was simply out of annoyance that he wasn’t really paying attention not at all because the smile was directed at Bahorel and not him. About half way through the meeting when Enjolras kept looking over and Grantaire and Bahorel kept being immersed in their own private conversation Enjolras finally said something.

“Is there something you want to say Grantaire?” He immediately regretted firstly his choice of words and secondly the singling out of Grantaire and not including Bahorel.

Grantaire signed something and Bahorel snorted.

“He says there are many things he would like to say too bad he never learnt to talk.” Joly translated a small smile playing around his mouth.

Enjolras blushed a bright red, Grantaire kept signing.

This time it was Bahorel who translated. “Now he’s saying he is only teasing, you don’t have to treat him with kid gloves, he’s a big boy and he can say things even if he is not technically speaking. And also that if you are not the leader, why is everyone deferring to you?”

Enjolras blushed as every single one of his friends turned to him with raised eyebrows, they all knew that he had been voted in as leader, but he had gotten flustered when Grantaire had called him the ‘fearless leader of Les Amis’ and had sort of said Les Amis didn’t have a leader and they simply worked together instead. Which was partially true, Les Amis did work together, but he also was technically their leader.

“Well, uh, you see when I said the Les Amis didn’t have a leader that wasn’t uh, technically true.” Enjolras couldn’t help wondering where the hell all these ‘uh’s and things had come from he was fairly certain he had never once said anything even resembling ‘uh’ in the entirety of his life before meeting Grantaire. “But uh,” he cringed at the third ‘uh’ when he was only into his second sentence, “it is mostly a figurative position. I mean, Les Amis vote on everything, and we all agree to everything we do, it’s just I do um, most of the speaking.”

Enjolras was almost one hundred percent sure he had never been so red nor so embarrassed in his life. All of his friends were looking at him as though he had just revealed plans to become a tyrannical dictator of the world and possibly even worse than that, Grantaire looked as though he were about to start laughing any second.

There were several very quiet moments before Combeferre cleared his throat.

“Right.” Combeferre said. “Do you want to cover the final to charities Enjolras or should I?”

Enjolras decided he had to do it, if only to prove he was entirely capable of saying a speech without using a single ‘uh’.

He stood cleared his throat to begin talking and made eye contact with Grantaire, who at that moment bit his lip and then very slowly released it from his teeth. Enjolras felt as though his entire brain had short circuited.

“Uh.” He said. Eye brows were raised again, Grantaire suddenly looked embarrassed, as though he were the one in Enjolras’ place and Enjolras himself blinked several times trying to clear the image from his head. He cleared his throat again and finished his speech, very determinedly not once looking at Grantaire, and not saying ‘uh’ even one more time.

After he was done speaking he somehow managed to get into another argument with Grantaire. He couldn’t for the life of him work out how it had happened. After the meeting officially ended the conversation devolved into more social topics and everybody seemed to relax and laugh and joke. He started out having a perfectly pleasant conversation with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Then at some point he knew he had gone over to where Bahorel and Grantaire were sitting and for a while everything had been fine. Both Grantaire and Bahorel had said which volunteer jobs they were looking at participating in, and how Les Amis organised their volunteer work and everything had been good. It was all a lot smoother with Bahorel translating rather than Grantaire having to write it out and it was all going so well and Grantaire was smiling. Then somehow they had gotten onto the subject of volunteer work over-seas. And then they were arguing about whether or not some international volunteer agencies did more harm than good in third world countries.

Bahorel had stayed for less than five minutes before he told them they could ‘work it the fuck out yourselves.’ Then it was just Enjolras trying, and failing, to not raise his voice and Grantaire trying, and mostly succeeding, at keeping his writing legible despite the speed he was writing at.

Once again the argument did not stick to one subject, changing and evolving until eventually they were talking about the effects and repercussions of a globalised language and the difficulties in creating one and it was barely even an argument.

“It would be very difficult to devise such a language though,” Enjolras was saying, Grantaire was smiling and nodding along, encouraging Enjolras and making him feel like he could never not be unhappy again as long as Grantaire and him were talking. “What elements from which languages would be included? And how would it be decided?” Enjolras asked and waited patiently as Grantaire wrote out his response, watching the smile that played across Grantaires face and marvelling at the fact that he put it there.

_And it isn’t just about the linguistic elements, a language isn’t just a bunch of words strung together in a certain way. Its expressions and sayings, which mutate over generations and mean different things in different areas, it’s almost a living thing evolving and changing. It wouldn’t just be a matter of creating one global language but finding a way to keep it global, preventing it from changing too much and inhibiting communication._

During this conversation Enjolras had been so engrossed in what he and Grantaire were talking about he hadn’t noticed Les Amis slowly filter out, from Grantaires shocked face when Bahorel the only other one except for Courfeyrac and Combeferre still present, interrupted to say that he was about to leave, he hadn’t noticed either.

Enjolras tried to squash the disappointment and keep it out of his face when Grantaire said he would go with Bahorel. He also tried to ignore the frustration of not knowing what Grantaire and Bahorel were talking about using sign language between the time Bahorel said he was about to leave and when Grantaire actually said goodbye. Despite the disappointment and growing frustration (why wasn’t it compulsory to learn sign language in schools? Why had he never even considered learning sign language before now?) when Grantaire left with Bahorel and smiled at Enjolras as they left,  Enjolras smiled back, getting used to the warmth that seemed to flood his stomach every time that smile was directed at him.

After they had left Enjolras sat smiling to himself, looking over all the pieces of paper Grantaire had used to write out his arguments, on one of them he noticed a little doodle of Enjolras with many arms each one of them holding something that was clearly meant to represent each one of the different charities. The warm feeling returned even stronger when he saw that and he couldn’t stop his smile getting bigger.

He had forgotten his surroundings once again and only remembered that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were still there when one of them, he suspected Combeferre, coughed quietly behind him. He jumped in his seat and turned to look at them. They were both looking expectantly back at him.

“Yes?” He asked, hoping whatever it was, that it had nothing to do with Grantaire, he was self-aware enough to realise he was acting somewhat differently around Grantaire than others, but he just couldn’t work out _why._

“Anything you want to tell us?” Combeferre asked sounding calm and reasonable.

“No.” Enjolras said, probably far too quickly.

“Okay, well, if you ever want to talk, we’re here.” Combeferre continued. Courfeyrac looked at him like he had just kicked his puppy.

“Combeferre. . .” he whined.

“Courfeyrac.” Combeferre said with an air of finality. “Goodnight.” He said facing Enjolras. Combeferre and Courfeyrac then left Enjolras alone continuing to look at Grantaires pages of writing, noticing the way his writing got messier and messier the more animated he was, the more intense the conversation was. He couldn’t help but think that despite how much Enjolras liked having this record of their conversations, it wasn’t an overly practical method of communication.

When Enjolras got home he stayed up late into the night looking up sign language resources and courses he could take, feeling the only downside would be the end of the pages of paper he would get to take home after each time Enjolras and Grantaire saw each other.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras misses another support meeting, but it's not his fault when Grantaire is being so interesting. Nor is it his fault that everything has suddenly gotten all confusing.

By the next Thursday Enjolras was acutely aware he hadn’t seen Grantaire since Sunday and the meeting of Les Amis de l'ABC. This was not something Enjolras was used to.

Enjolras loved his friends, probably more than anything else in his life, more than his school work, and his causes, and his part time job at the local paper, probably even more than his family, but he got absorbed in things. Sometimes he would end up not seeing his friends, really all of whom were involved in Les Amis, except at the weekly meetings simply because he had gotten so caught up in something he hadn’t even realised he hadn’t seen them all week. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, it was just how he was.

And now, with the arrival of Grantaire, it was suddenly something that was glaringly obvious, he hadn’t seen Grantaire since Sunday. Enjolras wondered if he was so aware because they had been interrupted in the middle of their conversation about a globalised language. In fairness, they had continued it on in texts, but that just wasn’t the same. Enjolras couldn’t see Grantaires smile when they texted, couldn’t see the way his eyes light up when he gets excited and there was something about reading Grantaires hand-written arguments that he didn’t want to miss out on. So that settled it, he just wanted to have a proper conversation with Grantaire about a globalised language.

It was Thursday, Enjolras was meant to be going to the support meeting, he had promised Combeferre he would go this time, but after finally working out why he was so aware of Grantaires absence, he decided it couldn’t hurt to see if he was at the Corinth. Nor would it hurt if he chose to wear his red skinny jeans, white t-shirt, and black leather jacket, it had nothing to do with the fact that Courfeyrac almost always wolf-whistled when he wore the combination.

He was nervous again when he walked into the Corinth, hoping beyond hope that Grantaire would actually be there, that he wasn’t completely wasting his time. He looked around, eyes searching for messy black curls, and tattoo'd arms and there they were. Grantaire was sitting at the same table he and Enjolras had moved to last Thursday, bent over a sketch pad. Enjolras couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

He walked over and tapped Grantaire on the shoulder. He jumped and Enjolras felt bad but before he could even begin to apologise a brilliant smile spread across Grantaires face and the words were stolen right out of Enjolras’ mouth. After several moments of awkward staring Grantaire gestured in way that was clearly an invitation to sit.

He moved the sketch pad and underneath it was a legal pad. And shuffled over so they could sit on the same side of the table, making it easier for Enjolras to read what he wrote as he was writing it. He could feel the heat coming off Grantaires arm where they were almost touching and smell a scent that he was sure was unique to Grantaire, and had to resist the bizarre urge to lean into the warmth. Although really it wasn’t _that_ bizarre Enjolras was a very tactile person who was friends with a very tactile group of people, they were always leaning on each other and holding each other, it was just that it normally took Enjolras a long time to feel comfortable enough with someone to want to do it.

 _What brings you here?_ Grantaire wrote.

“Oh, I uh,” Enjolras wasn’t overly prepared for the question, which was stupid, he should have known Grantaire would want to know, he could feel a blush colouring his cheeks and he wanted to hide “well, you remember that meeting, I missed last week?” A nod. “Right, well, it’s um, weekly?” Why did he turn that into a question, that was not a question, they are weekly. “So I thought I’d try again this week.”

_That still doesn’t overly explain why you are here, Enjolras, the meetings aren’t exactly in the Corinth are they?_

“Liquid courage?” He had turned it into a question again, it was ridiculous, but there was something about seeing his name written down in Grantaires scrawling writing that made Enjolras’ spine tingle.

_So that is why you haven’t got a drink?_

Enjolras, looked resolutely at the paper not wanting to look at Grantaires face, he could feel the heat flare across his cheeks and could only think of how stupid he must look, Grantaire must think he is such a loser. But when he finally did look up, it was to see Grantaire smiling at him, and suddenly he didn’t feel so stupid.

“I’ll uh, just go get one.”

When he returned, with a gin and tonic for him and whatever it was Grantaire was drinking, he simply asked the bartender for another of whatever R had gotten earlier, didn’t find out what it was which was annoying. He wouldn’t know what to get him next time now.

 _Thanks, you didn’t have to do that._ Grantaire wrote when Enjolras deposited the drink in front of him.

“It’s not a problem.” Enjolras smiled, while an internal panic started up. What was he supposed to say now? Why was he getting so nervous? He wouldn’t say he was fantastic at social interations but he had never been at a loss for words. He always knew exactly what to say, or he just didn’t care. And the urge to lean into Grantaires warmth had been replaced by the urge to reach up and hold the hand Grantaire had left resting on the table beside the legal pad, which was even more ridiculous and bizarre. Enjolras like cuddling with his friends, but he had never been one for hand holding. What the hell was going on?

Grantaire oblivious to Enjolras’ inner struggle was writing something again.

_So what are these meetings? I hope you didn’t get into any trouble missing the last one?_

“Oh, no, I didn’t get into any trouble, they are, um, well, they’re kind of support meetings?” A statement posed as a question again. Brilliant.

_Do you mind if I ask what kind of support?_

Of course he wants to know.

“It’s for people who lost have lost their soul mates.” Grantaire looked confused.

_Lost?_

“Died.” Enjolras felt terrible. He knew within Les Amis the majority of them thought his soul mate had died. He didn’t like talking about soul mates, and never showed anyone his tattoo, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were the only ones who knew it was because he didn’t actually have a tattoo. He wasn’t sure where or who the idea had come from but when he found out they though his soul mate was dead he felt no need to correct them. No one had ever actually asked so he had never technically lied and it wasn’t like it hurt anyone.

But this felt different. It still wasn’t an outright lie, just a misleading implication, but it made his insides squirm, made him feel as though there was something unpleasant hiding just under the surface of his skin. The inexplicable expression of hurt that flickered across Grantaires face didn’t help either.

“What about you?” He ended up asking, trying to move the conversation away from soul mates, dead or otherwise. “What are you doing here?”

After a pause Grantaire started writing.

_I like it here. The staff know me and so do most of the regulars so I don’t have to worry about a misunderstanding cause they don’t know I’m deaf. Plus I love people watching, and you see all sorts here, it’s very interesting. I like drawing them, not proper portraits, just as they are, not as they want to be seen._

“Are you here most Thursdays?” Was that weird to ask? It was probably weird to ask.

_Generally, it’s really the only day I consistently have nothing on._

“What else do you do?” God it was almost like he was interviewing him. Surely a basic human interaction like a pleasant conversation should not be this hard.

 _Well I run some kick boxing and art classes through a school for deaf children. And I work part time at a book store._ Grantaire looked up.

“With Jeahan right?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire nodded.

 _Yup._ He wrote. _Also I’m a student at University._

“What are you studying?” Enjolras asked. One of the things that probably impressed Enjolras the most was how Grantaire managed to give the conversation flow like a spoken one. Enjolras felt like it should have been awkward, Grantaire having to look at the pad to see what he was writing, but also looking at Enjolras to read his lips. Enjolras was sure it would be if the positions were reversed, but with Grantaire it wasn’t.

_Technically art._

“Technically?”

_I’m a bit of a nerd. I quite often end up going to lectures for classes I’m not actually taking. I’ve taken a few classics courses as well as my art ones, but I have snuck into lectures for just about every subject the university teaches. Sometimes I get in trouble for it. But mostly the lecturers don’t mind._

There was something incredibly endearing about the fact that Grantaire snuck into lectures. And something incredibly ridiculous that he got in trouble for it on occasion.

“Why do you get in trouble for it?” Enjolras asked, incensed on Grantaires behalf.

_Because I haven’t paid for the course._

“But that’s preposterous. You showing up doesn’t mean they have to do any more work. It’s not like you’re asking them to grade your papers and it’s not as though they wouldn’t be taking the lecture any way if you weren’t there.”

_It’s still their livelihood Enjolras. They make their money imparting their knowledge to other people, I can understand the thinking that says ‘if we let one person in without paying everyone will want to do the same.’ Learn what they have to teach without having to pay._

“But you don’t get a qualification at the end, and that is really what we are paying for isn’t it? I mean people aren’t going to just stop paying because one person has an interest in a subject that isn’t their main area of study.”

And so it went again. They went from a discussion on whether or not Grantaire should get in trouble for sneaking into lectures, to a talk about Socrates and the sophists and which were more like modern day teachers and on and on it went. Eventually they found themselves talking about the advantages and disadvantages of always being contactable due to technologies such as phones and computers. It was then that he realised he missed his meeting again. And it wasn’t even him that realised it, it was Grantaire.

_I’m not saying it is entirely bad, just that it’s not entirely good. Yes it is useful that if anything ever goes wrong there is always a way to be contacted or to contact someone yourself, but sometimes people need to be alone. And with things like smartphone you aren’t ever alone. People can text you, snap chat you, message you on facebook and all to a device you are supposed to have on you constantly. And if you don’t reply people get upset or worried. It’s no longer possible to have a day truly to yourself, which is ridiculous. We all need – when was your meeting?_

Enjolras was reading along as Grantaire was writing and trying to think of a rebuttal in his mind, he was concentrating so hard on that that it took him several readings of the final sentence to realise part way through it stopped being about their argument. It took another few moments for him to even remember what meeting Grantaire was talking about.

“Oh. It starts at 8.” Enjolras looked at his watch. It was 11:45. They had done it again. “Whoops.”

 _Sorry. Again._ He gave an apologetic smile.

“It’s fine. Really. Finish what you were saying about the smartphones, I’m about to dazzle you with a startlingly intelligent rebuttal.” This brought forth the wide smile and crinkling of Grantaires eyes that Enjolras had come to understand was his way of laughing. Enjolras wondered why, it wasn’t as though being deaf automatically made someone mute, he wondered if Grantaire was mute as well as deaf or if it was connected to the way Grantaire always seemed to be trying as much as possible to be as silent as possible. Always setting his glass down carefully, and walking with soft steps. Was it a habit learnt by someone who never knew how loud they were being and so resolved to try and make no noise at all? Or just simply the way Grantaire was?

They stayed at the Corinth until closing time, Grantaire who lived with Bahorel barely two streets away wandering off in the other direction from Enjolras.

That night Enjolras stayed up reading over the pieces of paper he had taken once again on the pretext of recycling in an effort to work out how he could actually convince him of something. Up until that point the arguments had always ended in one of three ways. They either agreed to disagree, got distracted by a different topic, or conceded that maybe the other person was right but refusing to actually agree until research on the matter had been conducted. It wouldn’t be until he was reading over Grantaires side of the conversation that he realised they never had gotten around to finishing their conversation about a global language. The thought made him smile; he’d just have to make sure they could finish it another time.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is forced to admit something he really wishes he never had to admit, even if it was only to himself.

Meetings for Les Amis de l’ABC where on every Sunday night. Support meetings were every Thursday night. Enjolras went to every Les Amis meeting with the intention to focus on the causes, to not be distracted, sometimes he succeeded, other times Grantaire wore tight fighting black t-shirts that showed off his muscles, or had paint in his hair and smeared across his skin and Enjolras found it possible to even pretend he wasn’t distracted.

Every Thursday night Enjolras promised himself he wouldn’t go into the Corinth that he would go straight to the support meeting, he never succeeded in this. There was always a conversation they hadn’t quite finished, always something he wanted to tell Grantaire or hear his opinion on. He always found himself walking into the Corinth at 7:30, and sitting down with Grantaire in what had become ‘their’ table.

Sometimes at the Musain Grantaire would have his laptop, as he typed faster than he wrote, and there was never a problem with legibility, but Enjolras much preferred it when he hand wrote things. He almost always doodled on them and Enjolras always took them home with him, to go in the box under his bed. He knew it was probably strange, but he loved Grantaires arguments, loved reading over them and remembering his face as he wrote them down. His triumph whenever Enjolras would concede a point.

At first he had felt guilty about blowing off the support meetings when he kept telling Combeferre he would go. But every time he told Combeferre he hadn’t gone Combeferre would simply ask if he had spent the time with Grantaire instead and when Enjolras said he had, Combeferre would smile and say ‘Well that’s all right then.’ Enjolras was ignoring the reasons behind that, he had been doing that a lot lately. Ignoring why he still found himself fumbling for words around Grantaire. Why he always knew exactly how long it had been since he last saw Grantaire. Why he felt his absence whenever he wasn’t around. Why he still felt his stomach flood with warmth and a tingling across his skin every time Grantaire directed his smile at him.

He knew he was going to have to think about it all eventually, but every time he thought about confronting it he got the same hollow feeling in his chest when he thought about the fact that he would never meet his soul mate and would spend his life alone. So he didn’t.

His routine of seeing Grantaire twice a week and ignoring unpleasant realities had been going on for just over three months. Whenever he and Grantaire saw each other they would invariably have either a very engaging argument or one of the most interesting conversations Enjolras had ever had in his life. Grantaire seemed to know something about everything. He was technically an art student at the university, but he would regularly sneak into other lectures just because they interested him. He seemed to have read a never ending list of books on everything, and no topic was too dull or too obscure, and if he hadn’t read anything on it and it came up in conversation, he would go read up on it later and continue the conversation where they had left off the next time he saw Enjolras.

Enjolras was learning sign language at what felt like an infuriatingly slow pace, but he was getting there and Bahorel, Joly and Bossuet were helping, he hadn’t yet told Grantaire. He kept telling others it was because he didn’t want to embarrass himself by trying to properly speak it before he was ready and tried to ignore the real reason, that it would put a permanent stop to the mementos he took home after every conversation, even in the privacy of his own head. Besides what if it came across as creepy? Do friends generally learn languages for their friends? He wasn’t sure that they did. And that was all they were after all, friends. Just friends. And Enjolras didn’t need more than that, he didn’t want more than that. And even if he did it was a moot point because he couldn’t have more than that. He didn’t have any words.

It was Thursday night, and he was heading to the Corinth. He wouldn’t stay long, just to catch up with Grantaire, but he really had to go in, he and Grantaire had been having a very interesting conversation about the origins of democracy and whether or not what they had today could actually still be a democracy in the original sense of the word, when his phone died. At the very least he had to tell Grantaire that he wasn’t ignoring him or anything and he had come reasonably early for the meeting so they could talk for a bit, and then Enjolras would go to the meeting, no worries.

When he got to the bar however, Grantaire was not at their table. He had been at that table every Thursday for three months, it was a silent agreement, and law of nature. Every day the sun would rise in the east, and every Thursday Grantaire and Enjolras would meet in the Corinth and talk and argue about anything and everything they could think of. But he wasn’t there. Grantaire wasn’t there and Enjolras didn’t know what to do. So he sat down, and waited, maybe he was late?

He’d been waiting for about fifteen minutes when Bahorel saw him.

“Hey man, did you get Grantaires text?” He asked.

“No?” Enjolras replied, not even pretending he wasn’t there to see Grantaire like he had the first few times Bahorel had seen him there on a Thursday and waggled his eyebrows at him.

“He can’t make it, he’s got a project due tomorrow he’s trying to finish.”

“Oh.” Enjolras didn’t even try to hide the disappointment either. Grantaire was always there. What was he going to do?

“Hey at least you can finally go to that meeting you keep pretending you’re actually going to go to each Thursday.” Enjolras could tell by his tone that he was teasing, so he pulled a face at him. “You don’t have to go you know, there are other ways to get support than ‘meetings’ with other people in similar positions.” His tone had turned more serious.

The first couple of Thursdays Enjolras kept coming to the Corinth when he had never really been to the Corinth before, Bahorel kept asking why he was there, Enjolras kept saying liquid courage for support meetings. Eventually it came out to everyone in the group they were support meetings for people who had lost their soul mates. Enjolras had wanted to keep that a secret because it felt like a confirmation that they were right about his soul mate being dead, even though they technically weren’t, they were simply non-existent. On the other hand, it did mean a stop to Bahorel implying things about him and Grantaire, so that was good.

“Friends maybe,” Bahorel continued after a pause. “Maybe one friend in particular, who also doesn’t have a soul mate either.”

Enjolras sighed. “I don’t know what you’re getting at Bahorel, and I don’t want to know.”

“The fact that you don’t want to know, kind of implies that you do know, you just don’t want to hear it said out loud.”

Enjolras gave him a look.

“Fine. Alright fine. I’ll stop making suggestive comments and things. I think you should know though, he meet them.”

“What?” Enjolras was fairly certain the entire bar had just dropped about fifty feet down a ravine.

“They aren’t together. Apparently the guy wasn’t interested.”

“What!?” Again, louder. Angry and strong this time rather than choked off and shocked.

“Yeah, I know.” Bahorel said, anger in his voice as well.

“But its Grantaire.”

“Yup.”

“Why wouldn’t they want _Grantaire?_ Grantaire is so smart, and funny, and brilliant and he laughs with his eyes and knows the plural of octopus and he draws doodles and paints and Grantaire is _perfect_. What the hell is wrong with him, who wouldn’t want Grantaire, wouldn’t date _Grantaire?!_ ”

Bahorel was smiling a crooked smile.

“Who wouldn’t indeed? Maybe you should.”

Enjolras blushed. He couldn’t believe he had just said all that. Couldn’t believe what a fool he had made of himself. He couldn’t date Grantaire. He was broken, didn’t have a soul mate, couldn’t have a soul mate. It wasn’t fair, he wanted Grantaire, but he couldn’t have him, and the man that could had left him. It wasn’t fair.

“I can’t.” Enjolras said. Voice small.

“Why not? You’re both down one soul mate right? And clearly you are interested.”

“No. I can’t. I’m not.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. “I should go to my meeting.”

He got up slowly, carefully, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, trying to ignore the look of worry on Bahorels face, and he walked to the meeting, feeling the absence of a soul mate even more than ever before.

The meeting was sad and long and left a dull ache in his chest. He hadn’t had to tell them he didn’t have any words, but hearing all their stories was heart-breaking. Not only because he heard more heart breaking stories about people who met their soul mate only for them to die young than he even knew existed. But because he was jealous. He was jealous that every single one of them had met their soul mate. They had found them, they had experienced feeling whole, even for such a short time as it was, they felt it, they knew what it was like, and Enjolras never would. And then because he felt jealous he got angry at himself. They don’t need his ill will, and pain is not measurable, who is he to say he feels any worse or better than anyone else there.

He still decides not to go back, he’ll see Combeferre the next day, explain why, but he can’t go back and feel the ugly feeling of jealousy towards people who don’t deserve it. And then maybe with out the excuse of the meetings he won’t go to the Corinth every Thursday, will finally stop and let Grantaire go.

Because what he’s doing can’t be healthy.

He’d tried to ignore it, tried to make it go away, but he couldn’t. Grantaire was . . . Grantaire was everything Enjolras never knew he needed in a soul mate and all the best parts of the things he had always thought he wanted. He was kind and caring and the type of guy who took kick-boxing and art classes for deaf children, not because he was paid well but because it made the kids happy. He was sweet and gentle and was always aware of what kind of mood his friends were in and how to make it better. He was smart and brilliant and loved to learn simply because he found it interesting. He was argumentative and frustrating and refused to ever back down and was the most interesting person Enjolras had ever held a conversation with. He was short enough that Enjolras was absolutely certain he would fit snugly under his chin if they were to hold each other.

It wasn’t all good, Enjolras knew it wasn’t all good. Knew there were things about Grantaire that he didn’t particularly like, and yet they didn’t matter. Whenever he thought about them, whenever they made themselves present, they were always overshadowed by absolutely everything else. Overshadowed by his inherent goodness, his kindness, his willingness to not only learn but educate. Overshadowed by how much Enjolras loved him.

Because that’s what this was. Love.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t wanted to think about it because he knew that nothing would come of it, that nothing could come of it, and yet he wanted. Oh how he wanted. He wanted to be allowed to hold his hand, to sit with him curled up into his side, under his arm. Wanted to kiss him and hold him and make him happy. Wanted to stay up for a full night talking. Wanted to wake up every morning with Grantaire by his side.

But he couldn’t have that, and he needed to stop punishing himself. To stop seeing Grantaire and having to stop himself from reaching out and touching him when he shouldn’t, having to ignore the way he feels every time Grantaire smiles at him. He needs to stop. And now he can. If he doesn’t have the excuse of the meetings he can stay home, and do work. Enjolras will distance himself from Grantaire. It will be good. Or at least, he can pretend it will be good for tonight, while he has still at least partially deluded himself into thinking he won’t actually go back to the Corinth next Thursday.

When he got home he went to his bed and pulled out the box where he kept the sheets of paper with Grantaires sides of the arguments they had had. He looked through them until he found that first one, with the first words.

_So you’re friends with Bahorel?_

He imagined what it would be like if he had those words written across his skin. To feel them sinking into his soul to join Grantaire and him together, forever.

Imagined how he would have reacted when he saw the words on the paper in front of him, the same words that would have been on his skin for the past four years. That he would have seen every time he took a shower or got changed, or depending on where it was on his body, even if he was just in summer clothes or swimming.

Imagined how he would have reached across the bar and pulled Grantaire to him, how they would have kissed. Imagined that kiss repeated a thousand times over the last few months, every time they saw each other, and every time they left each other, they would have seen each other more too.

Imagined where they would be now. It had been three months, they would probably be in bed together. Enjolras curled around the warmth of Grantaire breathing in his scent. Writing words of love upon his skin with his fingertips in the place of ‘I love you’s whispered into the dark.

Enjolras imagined them spending their lives together and he fell asleep with tears on his cheeks and a smile on his lips.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is dumb but Combeferre is amazing. And maybe if people stopped self evaluating they would realise how very far from broken they are and see how amazingly brilliant they are instead.

The next morning Enjolras woke up with a head ache. He wanted to spend the rest of his life in bed. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, he just wanted to curl up into a ball under his duvet and ignore the existence of the world and everyone in it.

But he was supposed to go to Combeferre’s that morning. It had become somewhat of a tradition. Thursday evening’s Enjolras would see Grantaire and miss the support meeting, Friday mornings he would go to Combeferre and explain why.

So after much internal struggle he hauled himself out of bed and to Combeferre’s apartment.

“I went to the meeting last night.” Enjolras said as Combeferre poured him coffee standing at the kitchen bench. Trying to keep it casual. Trying to act as though his entire world hadn’t changed last night when he found out Grantaire had a soul mate who wasn’t him, not that it could have been him. Trying to pretend as though he hadn’t stayed up imagining a world in which it was him. Probably failing at all of the above. Combeferre looked up raising an eyebrow. Oh yeah, he was definitely failing.

“Really?” He asked. Oh no. Enjolras could only hope the trend of one word questions wouldn’t continue, Combeferre always did it when he was trying to get information out of him.

“Yeah. I don’t think I’m going to go back.” Enjolras found he couldn’t quite look Combeferre in the eye, trying not to talk too much.

“Oh?” Combeferre asked. Oh god, Enjolras hated it when he did this. One word question always somehow prompted Enjolras into talking more, he was fairly certain Combeferre had somehow conditioned him into it.

“It just wasn’t for me. And it was depressing hearing sad story after sad story. There was one woman who had the words ‘please help my sister’, they were both the first and last words her soul mate said to her. She met them on the side of the road after crashing into their car. Can you imagine that?” Enjolras was hopelessly trying to get Combeferre into the conversation away from one word answers and questions.

“No.” He replied.

Enjolras waited, nothing more came. Clearly he was failing at drawing him into conversation.

“It means I’ll have Thursdays free now. I can put more time into my uni work.” Enjolras was still in denial about Thursdays. He figured he could pretend as though he was going to stop going to the Corinth up until the point when he actually walked through its front doors.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t even say one word this time, this was getting ridiculous.

“I’ve been getting distracted lately anyway. It would be good to reserve Thursday evenings for uni work.” Enjolras continued. At least he was mostly repeating himself, surely not offering much more information counted as a win.

“And Grantaire?” Combeferre asked. Enjolras was going to count that as a win, it may only be one word more than a one word question, but it was still technically longer than just one word.

“He wasn’t at the Corinth last night, he has a project due today that he had to work on.” Enjolras knew that wasn’t the question Combeferre was asking, and he was proud of himself for not falling into his trap.

Pride that was only going to last about fifteen seconds longer.

“Right.”

“He meet his soul mate.” Enjolras’ voice was small. And the pride was gone. He felt stupid. But after a beat he also felt relieved. No he hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but now, he thought it might be a good thing.

“Last night?” Combeferre asked, sounding surprised. It wasn’t often that Combeferre was surprised.

“No. A while ago. Bahorel only told me last night. He said the guy wasn’t interested. How could he not be interested in Grantaire?”

Combeferre smiled. It was the same smiled he smiled every time in the past that Enjolras had said he had spent time with Grantaire instead of going to the meetings, a knowing smile. “I don’t know” He said.

“I was jealous, you know?” Enjolras felt even worse for saying it out loud. “And I hate myself for it.” He ended up adding on, as though recognising how horrible he was made him any less horrible.

“Jealous?” Combeferre asked.

“Jealous.” Enjolras confirmed. Feeling deflated and tired and like he would like nothing more than to be able to curl up with Grantaire in his arms.

“Of?” Combeferre asked.

“Of everyone.” Enjolras admitted. “Jealous of everyone in this entire world. Jealous of you even though your words are what they are.” _I will fucking deck you_ was written across Combeferre’s ribs, “of the women who meet her soul mate only to have them die seconds late, of Grantaire. Most of all of that _asshole_ who doesn’t want Grantaire.”

“Surely,” Combeferre started, speaking very carefully and slowly, as though thinking about each word before he said it, “that is a good thing.”

Enjolras couldn’t believe what he just said, he was in such disbelief it barely even registered that he had finally stopped speaking in one word questions and answers.

“How on earth can Grantaire being rejected by his soul mate be a ‘good thing’? You know how low his self-esteem is, how little he thinks of himself, he will feel as though this is confirmation for every self-doubt and insecurity he has ever had of why he is not good enough. And now he will never be happy, and he deserves to be happy Combeferre.” By the end of it Enjolras was just about ready to do what Combeferre’s soul mate threatened and deck him.

“You don’t have any words, Grantaire isn’t with his soul mate. Neither of you have soul mates. Both of you like each other” Combeferre stated calmly.

Enjolras glared. “Bahorel said a very similar thing last night.”

“He’s smart, Bahorel.”

Enjolras continued to glare for a while.

“I’m not going to do that to him.” He said after a pause.

“Do what, exactly?” Combeferre asked

“Make him be in a relationship with someone who is broken.” Enjolras was getting quieter and quieter as he talked.

“Broken?”

“Someone who can’t be loved.”

Combeferre’s expression darkened immediately.

“First of all.” He said, his voice calm and measured in a way that seemed forced. “Love comes in many different forms. Yes there is the romantic love associated with soul mates, but there is also the love for family and for friends, and that love is just as important. And how dare you act as though you are not loved when I love you just as much if not more than I love my own family members and I know for a fact Courfeyrac does too. Secondly, not having words, not having a soul mate does not make you broken. Why did you think I wanted you to go to those meetings in the first place?”

He was clearly waiting for an answer. Enjolras who was feeling properly chastised, of course he knew ‘Ferre and Courf loved him, could only shrug and mumble; “I don’t know.”

“It was to remind you that life is not solely about finding your soul mate. There is so much more to life than just who the words on a person’s skin are connected to. You know, I remember, when we were about sixteen and you used to go on and on about how the idea of soul mates was this terrible social construct. How people acted as though your life was meaningless until you found your soul mate and how untrue that was. I remember you finding out that couples who aren’t soul mates can be declined things like home loans and you absolutely losing your shit over it. I remember when you understood that soul mates are not the be all end all of life. How can you have forgotten that?”

How could he have forgotten that? How could he let himself get so caught up in the idea that a person only became whole once they found their soul mate who was their supposed ‘other half’. How could he let society brain wash him into thinking his happiness could be dictated by the presence or absence of words written upon his skin?

“Look, all I’m saying Enjolras, is you’re not broken. There is nothing wrong with you. I know you don’t want to do research into why you don’t have words, I know you are scared of what you might find, but I think you should. You cannot be the only person in the entire history of the human race who doesn’t have words. I mean I know you aren’t aromantic, but there is a chance people who are don’t get words. Or maybe there is just a massive age gap or something and your soul mate hasn’t been born yet.” They both laughed at that. “I don’t know, but I do know that you’re not broken.”

Enjolras smiled. “Thanks ‘Ferre.”

Combeferre smiled back and Enjolras felt much better leaving his apartment than he had entering it.

When he got back home from ‘Ferre’s place he got his phone off the charger and read through the messages from last night.

The first message was a long one from Grantaire about the modern use of the word democracy and when it is and isn’t inappropriate to change the meanings of words. Then a couple about him being late.

Enjolras smiled at the last one.

 **From Grantaire:** Bahorel just got home. Said he saw you and told you I couldn’t come and that you finally went to your meeting. I think we should celebrate by you admitting you are completely and utterly wrong about democracy being an appropriate word for what we call America’s political system.

Combeferre was right, he didn’t need a soul mate, and he might not _need_ Grantaire as such either, but he really, really wanted him, maybe it could work. And maybe he should finally look into _why_ his words were absent.

It was still scary so he thought he would take baby steps. Look at stuff about aromantics and soul mate tattoo’s first. He knew he wasn’t aromantic, what he was feeling for Grantaire was proof of that, but it would be easier to research something he knew wasn’t the case. To see people who didn’t need or want romantic love to be happy, being happy.

He had meant to exit out of the texts from Grantaire and open a message to Combeferre but he got distracted and didn’t notice when he sent it to Grantaire instead.

 **To Grantaire:** I’m taking your advice. Sort of anyway. I’m going to look into aromantics and soul mate tattoos.

Given he hadn’t meant to text Grantaire he was confused and surprised when he got a response from him.

 **From Grantaire:** I fully don’t remember advising that, but cool. I have a book written by an aromantic and their response when they got a tattoo on their eighteenth, I can lend it to you.

Enjolras felt his face heating as he read over the text message, a hundred different thoughts and what if’s swirling around his head. What if he had said something about the absence of his tattoo in the text? What if he had talked about Grantaire? What if he had talked about how he felt about Grantaire?

But despite all the worries and stresses, there was one thought that stood out above all the others. And that was that _of course_ Grantaire had a book on it. Grantaire had a book on everything. And _of course_ Grantaire would go out of his way to understand other people’s romantic identities. He probably had books written by people with gender identities and sexual orientations other than that of what was considered ‘normal’ by society. Because that was what Grantaire was like. Always making sure he understood other people, where they were coming from, how to make them feel as comfortable as possible.

Maybe it was another effect of being deaf his whole life; he had struggled to fit in, Enjolras knew this, Grantaire had told him this, and so he went out of his way to make sure everyone else felt like they fit in.

In fact, because of this Grantaire might even know something about people who don’t have tattoos. But Enjolras could never ask him, or at least not yet, he couldn’t stand the thought that maybe he would know, and it would be a bad reason and then Grantaire would never even talk to him again, let alone date him. And if he didn’t know, that would probably be it. Because Enjolras iss only just starting to consider the idea that maybe he isn’t broken after all himself, he couldn’t expect the same consideration from Grantaire upon just finding out when it took him four year to even begin to consider. And so he didn’t want to talk to Grantaire about it, because, why would someone as amazing as Grantaire want a broken thing like him?

It never even occurred to Enjolras that Grantaire would know exactly why Enjolras didn’t have a tattoo. Nor did it ever cross his mind that just maybe Grantaire knew he didn’t have a tattoo already, but he was too scared to talk to Enjolras about it, because, Grantaire couldn’t help but think, why would someone as amazing as Enjolras want a broken thing like him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I would just like to say a quick thank you to everyone who has left kudos or comments. I cannot even tell you how much they mean to me, you guys are awesome, and I am just really glad people are actually enjoying this. SO yeah; thanks.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras gets nervous, stops being nervous, and then gets nervous again. Cause he's an idiot. Combeferre and Bahorel know what's up.

Enjolras was nervous before the meeting of Les Amis that week. It was the first time he was going to see Grantaire since he had admitted to himself and Combeferre that he was interested in Grantaire in a more than friendly way. And that first night of thinking about himself as Grantaire’s partner had been like opening the flood gates. Ever since then he would find himself day dreaming at random points of the day, wondering what he and Grantaire would be doing if they were together. At night he would fall asleep to fantasies of Grantaire and in the morning he would wake up from dreams about Grantaire.

And what would that mean seeing Grantaire now? He was sure he would end up making a fool of himself at some point. That he would wrap his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders as he read what he had written, or hold his hand under the table, or lean in to kiss his cheek when he wrote or did something that would just highlight all the reasons Enjolras was in love with him. All things he had fantasised doing many times over.

So he was nervous. And at first it felt like all his worst suspicions had been confirmed. When Grantaire walked in he couldn’t remember how the hell they usually greeted each other. Did they just smile and wave? Or was it a head nod? Or did they hug, maybe a kiss on each cheek? They were French after all, and that was normal, but was it normal for Grantaire and him? He couldn’t remember, so there was an awkward kind of aborted hug were Enjolras almost wrapped him in his arms before belatedly remembering that they generally just smiled with a nod of acknowledgement. He blushed profusely and was still blushing by the time they sat down.

By which point he couldn’t remember how they sat together. Did they sit on the same side or opposite sides of the table? He felt like they usually sat on the same side so Enjolras could read Grantaires words as he was writing them, but what if his brain had just convinced him of that when it wasn’t the case? What if they sat on opposite sides, to make it easier for Grantaire to lip read and Enjolras made a fool of himself by sitting on the same side? While he was having this internal struggle, Grantaire had at down at table on the seat furthest from Enjolras leaving him room to sit down next to him. It took a while for Enjolras to notice this and when he finally did Grantaire was looking up at him with a confused but amused smile. Enjolras’ blush deepened and he sheepishly slid into the seat Grantaire had left for him.

Of course that had led him into panics of, ‘how close do we normally sit to each other?’ And ‘do I normally order for him or does he do it?’ And finally ‘what the hell do we even talk about, how do our conversations start?’ The answers being; close enough to almost be touching, the waitress had learnt Grantaire’s order by heart and would ask ‘the usual’ to which he would smile and nod in reply and finally that Grantaire was the only one of the two of them who currently had functioning social skills so he started the conversation for them.

_Sorry I wasn’t at the Corinth Thursday, I had this stupid assignment due Friday that I had been putting off all week and I had to just sit down and do it._

“That’s fine,” Enjolras replied. “How did it go? Did you get it in on time?”

A nod in response.

_Yeah, I did, I don’t know how well I will do as it’s quite obvious that it was a rushed last minute job, but we’ll see what happens. What did you end up doing? Did you get to your meeting, or did something mysteriously come up last minute?_

Enjolras tried to scowl, he really did, if it had been anyone else teasing him about it, he probably would have, but as it was Grantaire it was more a twisted smile than a scowl.

“No, I went.” He said.

There was a pause.

_And?_

“And it was sad and depressing and I would much rather have spent the evening with you.” The words were out before Enjolras could think, then when he caught a minute in which to think, all he could think was ‘oh god that was too forward, too obvious, Grantaire is going to work it out, there is no way he won’t work it out.’

It seemed however that luck was on his side, well luck and Grantaire’s self-deprecating humour, which isn’t exactly a good thing.

_God, it must have been really bad then, to prefer my company._

Enjolras shot him a scathing look, which he hoped conveyed just how ridiculous that was without alerting Grantaire to the fact that he prefers spending time with Grantaire over literally everything else.

_I brought the book for you._

Grantaire continued on when Enjolras hadn’t said anything. He pulled out a thin and reasonably battered blue book.

It took Enjolras a moment to work out that it was the book on the aromantic with the soul mate tattoo.

“Oh right, thanks.”

 _What made you interested in aromantics and soul mate tattoos?_ Grantaire asked. _You said I ‘advised you to look into it’ or something, I’ve been thinking about it and I am certain I never did._

“Right, sorry, I should have explained when I replied. The original text was actually for Combeferre, I just accidentally ended up messaging you instead.” Enjolras explained.

 _Oh, true._ Enjolras was sure he was imagining it, but Grantaire almost looked disappointed. _And why was Combeferre advising it? A new campaign I don’t know about? Looking into something that was brought up in your meeting? Exploring your own romantic identity?_ Grantaire asked.

“None of the above really. I guess it is just not something people talk about a lot, you know?”

_So the exploration of knowledge. The best kind of exploration. In fact, I’m sure you could argue it’s the only kind of exploration._

“That’s ridiculous, it can’t be the only kind of exploration. What about exploration in the traditional sense, going out to new places.”

 _Yes, exploring to learn more about what is out there, to gain knowledge._ Grantaire wrote. When Enjolras looked back up from the paper after reading it Grantaire was smirking.

“But it’s not only about knowledge,” Enjolras argued. “It’s about finding places to live.”

 _Yes. Exploring to_ know _whether you can live there or not._

“No, you cannot reduce every use of the word explore to the act of gaining knowledge.”

Their argument went on for several hours. It was just like every other argument they had ever had. Enjolras wasn’t quite sure what had started it, nor was he entirely sure who really won it, or how it changed from a discussion on different types of exploration, through to a conversation about whether European exploration hindered or advanced humanity, and somehow ending on the price of fish in Hong Kong.

By the time Bahorel announced he was leaving, and taking Grantaire with him, Enjolras almost felt like laughing about how nervous he had been. Sure there were occasions when he had taken too long to answer because he had been distracted by Grantaire’s smile, or the way his hair would occasionally fall into his eyes. And yes, there were times when their arms or legs would brush against each other and it would take all of Enjolras’ will power to try and appear unaffected. And maybe there were a couple of instances when he found himself one witty comment away from throwing caution into the wind and just kissing Grantaire right then and there. But really, despite recent revelations, everything was normal.

They talked, Enjolras out loud, Grantaire on paper. They laughed, once again Enjolras out loud, and Grantaire by scrunching his eyes. And they just generally had a good time. As far as Enjolras was aware Grantaire hadn’t picked up on his feelings and at no point had he given in to any of his ridiculous urges to wrap Grantaire in his arms and kiss him.

Things were good. Enjolras was good. He had no reason to be nervous

And yet he was.

Because of what happened just before Grantaire left.

Bahorel had yelled at Enjolras that he was giving them five minutes and then he was going home.

Enjolras had interrupted Grantaire’s writing to tell him with a gentle tap on his shoulder, though he was loathe to do so as Grantaire was right in the middle of a very interesting paragraph on the way both importation and exportation had an effect on local produce.

Grantaire smiled, and waved in acknowledgement to Bahorel.

 _I hope you enjoy the book._ He wrote a couple of lines under his half-finished paragraph.

“I’m sure I will,” Enjolras had replied. “Thank you for lending it to me.”

Grantaire smiled.

_No worries._

He paused in his writing, as though considering whether he really wanted to continue. In the end he took a deep breath and began to write again.

_There is actually a movie on the problems of soul mate tattoos this Tuesday. I don’t think it is focusing that much on aromantics, but I believe there is a lot about upbringing and soul mates. Mostly looking at interracial soul mates, with a main focus on people whose words are in the language of a people who they were brought up to think were ‘less’ or whatever. You probably aren’t interested and that’s fine, but if you are we could maybe go. But only if you wanted._

Enjolras only got that far. The writing went on longer, Grantaire was still even writing. But Enjolras had to say yes. He had to say yes right then and there before he chickened out. Before he thought about the fact that it could almost be classified as a date, and how Grantaire never would have asked if he knew how desperate Enjolras was to have it be a date.

Tapping Grantaire’s shoulder, however, failed to get his attention. Enjolras briefly considered taking Grantaires’s shoulders and making him face him, but he ruled that out for two reasons. The first being that Grantaire was so gentle the idea of using even the tiniest amount of physical force felt like it would be some kind of sacrilege. The second being he was almost one hundred percent certain that if Enjolras had Grantaire facing him, while he was holding his shoulders, as close as they were, he would try and kiss him, and ruin everything.

So instead he grabbed one of the pieces of paper Grantaire had discarded during their conversation. He had been trying to make a point about traditional Asian medicine practices when in what Enjolras can only assume was a fit of frustration, he had ripped the page off the pad crumpled it into a ball and threw it across the table. Enjolras now grabbed it and smoothed it out before pulling a sharpie out of his bag, it was the first pen he found.

 ** _Yes, I would like to see the movie._** Enjolras wrote after some deliberation of wording, surely ‘love’ was far too strong a word in this context, and placed the paper in front of Grantaire.

Grantaire looked up from what was now almost half a page of ramblings about whether or not Enjolras would like to go, and that it was fine either way, and he read the paper and turned his gaze to Enjolras. He then looked back down at the paper, as though double checking what he had read. A shy smile slowly appeared on his lips.

 _Cool._ He wrote under Enjolras’ reply. _I’ll see you at the movie theatre on Tuesday._ He looked up and Enjolras nodded. _At like 6?_ Enjolras nodded again. _Cool._

It was when Bahorel and Grantaire were leaving that Enjolras became nervous again. Once he thought about it. Once he remembered that they had never actually _arranged_ to meet up before.  Once he thought about how much he wanted this to be an actual date and how far Grantaire would probably run if he knew it. And once he thought about being close to Grantaire in the dark, watching a movie about soul mates. He decided that, surely, this was not a good idea.

But when he saw the smile on Grantaires face he couldn’t help returning it. And maybe if he had seen it from an outside perspective, seen what Bahorel and Combeferre, the only two left, had seen, maybe he wouldn’t be nervous.

Because Bahorel and Combeferre each looked at their best friend and then smiled to each other. They knew their friends well, they knew they were idiots who had far too many issues around soul mates and whether they ‘deserved’ them or not. But when looking at the way Grantaire and Enjolras smiled each other, both Bahorel and Combeferre simply knew, that some way, somehow, they would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna be honest with you guys, I really struggled writing this chapter. I had all these essays and things due and when I got back to this I kind of couldn't think how I wanted this chapter to go. I hope it's not too bad and you guys enjoy it though. Sorry it took so long to get out.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras goes to a movie with Grantaire, and they are both oblivious.

 The book Grantaire had lent him was amazing. It was about an aromantic man who received a soul mate tattoo and how he dealt with the identity crisis that followed. He said he spent several years afterwards questioning everything he knew about himself. He had been so certain he was aromantic, that it was not ‘just a phase’ as his father so frequently said, and that he didn’t ‘just need to find the right person’.

So when he got the tattoo he began to question everything else he had thought he knew about himself. How much of who he was was really who he was and how much of it was what society had made him to be. The parts about society were particularity poignant to Enjolras. He couldn’t help but think of sixteen year old him who Combeferre had reminded him of, who would rage about the way society built up the idea of soul mates until it basically became the only measure of success in this world. Do you have your soul mate? If yes, great, you’re successful, your life is great. Do you not have your soul mate? That sucks, you’re not successful and nothing else you’ve achieved really effects your success.

Enjolras was surprised actually, how much he related to the author.

Eventually, however, the author meet his soul mate, who it turned out, was his platonic soul mate. The end of the book was mostly just talking about how important education is. How you can’t only teach the ‘traditional’ side of things. Only discussing what are considered more ‘conventional’ soul bonds is damaging to not only individuals but society as a whole, it’s not okay that in today’s society platonic soul bonds are not considered ‘real’ soul bonds when they are every bit as legitimate and important as romantic soul bonds.

The book was not only one of the most interesting and informative things Enjolras had ever read, it was also a brilliant distraction, and Enjolras needed a distraction. Ever since he had agreed to go to the movie with Grantaire he could feel a rising panic. He couldn’t help but think of all the many ways that everything could go completely wrong.

The only problem with the book was that it was such a good distraction that he started on Monday evening and then stayed up all night till it was finished, this meant that the majority of his Tuesday with nothing to do as he only had two morning classes. So he spent his time worrying about going to the movie with Grantaire and preparing for it.

He went through his entire wardrobe. Twice. And only just managed to stop himself from calling Courfeyrac over to help him decide what to wear. He then spent longer in his bathroom at his mirror trying to work out what to do with his hair than he probably ever had before. The really stupid thing was that he knew what he was doing was ridiculous. Enjolras had never really cared about what he looked like, and Grantaire wasn’t the type of person to really care either. And yet, he still wanted to look as good as possible. Once again, he knew it was ridiculous but at the same time, it couldn’t hurt, right?

He also double, and triple, and quadruple, checked where the movie actually was. It was at a theatre called The Lighthouse. Enjolras had never been there before and he got more and more annoyed about that the more he read up on the place. Every Tuesday they played a social justice movie or documentary. He couldn’t believe he had never heard about it when he liked to pride himself on being interested in social issues and knowing what was going on in his own community. He was not however surprised that Grantaire knew about it.

Grantaire seemed to know their city as though it was his childhood home. He knew which places to tread carefully as a child knows how to walk across a wooden floor they have walked across a thousand times without making the floor boards squeak. He knew where to go to be enveloped in a warm and welcoming atmosphere as it is known where the best spots to build a blanket fort are. And he knew where a cinema that showed movies attuned to his interests was as one knows exactly which bookshelf to go to to be entertained in whatever way is wanted.

After several hours of trying to choose what to wear, and taming his hair, and research, of both the theatre and what the movie was about it was finally time for Enjolras to leave if he wanted to be on time. Unfortunately he misjudged the time and got there over twenty minutes early, which left him with nothing to do except stand awkwardly, and nervously, trying, fruitlessly, to not fidget.

The only silver lining of his nervousness was that the twenty minutes passed almost ludicrously quickly, even if that was only because he was he imagining every scenario possible in which Grantaire didn’t show up: he had another project due; he had worked out how into him Enjolras was; his soul mate had finally woken up and shown interest in him and Grantaire had been so caught up in it all he forgot to text Enjolras. The list went on.

It also didn’t help that, Enjolras had decided he would tell Grantaire he had been learning sign language. He still couldn’t hold a proper conversation or anything, but when weighing up the pros and cons of telling Grantaire he had decided that the potential of Grantaire helping him learn outweighed the loss of being able to read over Grantaire’s arguments. He also came to the conclusion that it would still be a while before he stopped the writing anyway, and Enjolras felt like he would like the best of both worlds while it was still possible.

Nor did it help that as time wore on Enjolras realised Grantaire was late. It was only three minutes past six, but it was enough to set Enjolras even more on edge, especially when every minute felt like an hour in his agitated state.

Eventually, seven minutes late, Grantaire showed up. He had a pad of paper with him and on the top page a very shaky looking version of his hand writing proclaimed; _Sorry, my bus was late, I hope you didn’t have to wait too long._

It was obvious he had written it on the bus, and it made Enjolras smile to think of the fact that Grantaire had been aware enough of him to write the message out on the bus, and yet had clearly not realised how much more practical it would have been to have just texted him from the bus alerting him to the fact that he was going to be late.

Enjolras was about to speak his reply when he caught himself. He had decided there was no better way to inform Grantaire of his attempt at learning sign language than simply using it. He quickly went over in his head the different signs he would need, then took a deep breath.

 _‘No worries’_ He signed. _‘I was not waiting that long any way.’_

The look on Grantaires face was worth forgoing the continuation of written conversations alone. He did what could only be described as a double take before a shocked and happy smile spread across his face. His eyes crinkled and his smile was wider than Enjolras had ever seen it. Enjolras couldn’t stop the pride that welled up inside him knowing he caused that, and he didn’t want to.

‘ _Well that’s good then, isn’t it?’_ Grantaire replied. His smile didn’t dissipate, though it somehow started looking more playful. _‘How are you?’_ He asked.

 _‘Very well, thank you. You?’_ Enjolras replied.

_‘Oh, fantastic. You know something seems to be different about you today, I just can’t quite place it.’_

 This surprised a laugh out of Enjolras.

 _‘Really? I wonder what it could be?’_ Enjolras replied.

Grantaire made a face as though he was thinking, squinting his eyes and looking up to the side, crossing one arm under the other and bringing his hand up to tap a finger on his lips.

Grantaire pulled his hands away from his face, _‘Oh, I know. You changed your hair?’_ He asked.

Enjolras shook his head laughing. _‘No.’_

_‘New clothes?’_

More laughter, especially considering how long he had spent choosing his clothes and fixing his hair, the guesses could almost be considered the truth. _‘No.’_ He said again.

 _‘Did you paint your nails?’_ Grantaire asked, before grabbing his hands to inspect the nails. Enjolras inhaled sharply, before trying to school his face into an expression that showed him as unaffected, hoping desperately Grantaire didn’t notice the original reaction. _‘Nope, not the nails.’_ Grantaire said, after dropping his hands.

 _‘Lipstick then?’_ He asked continuing on the vein of focusing on the modes of communication, first his hands, then his mouth. He then took Enjolras face in his hands, turning it this way and that eyes focused on Enjolras’s lips. Enjolras himself could focus on nothing other than Grantaire, as far as he was aware there was no one and nothing else in the entire world. Only Grantaire’s hands on his face, Grantaire’s body so close to his, Grantaire’s breath warm against his skin. It was nothing short of herculean effort to stop himself from bringing his hands up to Grantaire’s face, pulling their lips together and kissing him.

But stop himself he did. Which was good because it was only seconds later than Grantaire seemed to realise what he was doing, and who he was doing it with, and he dropped Enjolras’s face like it was made of hot coals and blushed profusely. Clearly horrified by the mere suggestion that action had given of something more than friendship.

After several awkward moments Grantaire signed. _‘No, but really, that’s cool. That you are using sign language. You didn’t have to.’_

Enjolras tried to ignore the lump that had formed in his gut that felt to be roughly the size and weight of Texas, showing Grantaire he is learning sign language was the worst decision he has ever made. _‘No worries.’_

Grantaire smiled, shy and unsure. _‘Anyway, we have about half an hour until the movie starts, I kind of over budgeted for time do you want to go find somewhere to sit until then?’_

Enjolras just nodded and followed Grantaire to the seats he found.

The rest of the evening was more awkward than any evening with Grantaire had ever been before, they were usually so easy going, but now Enjolras had completely fucked it up. It wasn’t long until his knowledge of sign language had pretty much been used up. He was entirely incapable of having of having a conversation of their usual calibre without having to ask Grantaire to continuously repeat words, and say words out loud himself because he didn’t know the sign for them. They were back to Enjolras speaking and Grantaire writing before the movie started. Then once they were in the movie, sitting so close in the dark Enjolras was ridiculously aware of Grantaire.

Every time Grantaire moved, even a little bit Enjolrs noticed. And it seemed they were constantly accidentally touching each other. Their shoulders would brush when one of them switched positions, their hands touched when they both tried to use the same arm rest at the same time, Enjolras dropped his phone at the end when he went to turn it back on and basically ended up with his head in Grantaire’s lap. It was the most awkward thing imaginable. And he wasn’t sure what was worse, his reaction every time they touched or Grantaire’s. Both of them pulled away sharply as if they had just received an electric shock each time they touched. On the one hand Enjolras felt like his reaction was worse, because surely every time he did it, it just made it more and more obvious to Grantaire exactly how he felt about him, but on the other hand, Grantaire’s reaction showed Enjolras how very opposed to the idea of him and Enjolras Grantaire really was and it was like a knife to the heart every time.

The only redeeming feature of the whole evening was the documentary, which was brilliant. The main idea it looked at was the fact that because these kids got their words in their soul mates language it meant that it would be very likely that they would meet their soul mates in an environment where speaking that language was the norm. This meant that they were the ones who learnt the language of their soul mates instead of the other way around, despite their upbringing and the fact that they had been brought up to believe that they were ‘superior’.

There was every chance that the documentary was one of the greatest he had ever seen and yet he had no idea how to talk to Grantaire about it or if he even could after he had made such a fool of himself. Luckily for him it appears as though, once again he is the only socially inept one of the two.

About five minutes after they had left the theatre Grantaire tugged on Enjolras’ sleeve and led him into a small and cosy café. The waitress clearly knew Grantaire because she asked Grantaire ‘the usual?’ and he nodded, just as he did at the Corinth.

Enjolras ordered a hot chocolate, feeling he needed the chocolate to make him feel better over the coffee that would only add to the sleepless night he was looking forward to as he angsted over everything that had happened that evening as he expected to do.

But his expectations were not going to be met. Because Grantaire was nothing if he wasn’t a good distraction for Enjolras.

 _Well that was an amazing movie._ He wrote on the notepad he had pulled out of his bag as Enjolras had ordered.

Enjolras just nodded still too embarrassed to say much. But Grantaire was persistent.

_I mean it raised some really interesting questions, and effectively closed the book on whether or not bigotry is learnt or inherent. I mean clearly those kids had been brought up and taught hate but later learnt to put all of their previous teachings aside._

Enjolras felt like he was being baited, but still ended up biting. “What do you mean ‘whether or not bigotry is learnt or inherent?’ When has that ever even been a question? Of course it is learnt, there is no argument for it being inherent.”

Grantaire smiled, it was small but somehow conveyed a feeling of victory.

_Oh? So then where did the first bigots come from if it wasn’t inherent? Who taught them to be bigoted?_

“Their own superiority complex.”

 _Okay, except surely that means that it was inherent? And even if it doesn’t why did they claim superiority over certain traits and not just individual people?_ Grantaire asked.

Enjolras smiled and readied himself for another interesting and engaging discussion that would probably make him fall even more in love with a man who didn’t love him back.

They talked for hours, as usual. Ordering food halfway through and moving through topics, starting with bigotry and eventually landing on ableism. At which point Grantaire became somewhat subdued. Enjolras was unsure what to do with such a, figuratively, quiet Grantaire. He didn’t want to push him into talking about something he didn’t want to talk about, but at the same time, he wanted to show him his support.

Eventually Grantaire ended up signing instead of writing as he had been since the movie had ended.

 _‘Thank you.’_ He signed. _‘For learning sign language. It means a lot.’_

Enjolras smiled. _‘Anytime.’_

 _‘If you want, I can maybe help you learn more?’_ Grantaire said.

 _‘If you wouldn’t mind?’_ Enjolras asked, knowing it was a lost cause but trying to keep his smile small anyway.

 _‘Of course not.’_  Grantaire replied, trying equally as hard and equally as pointlessly to keep his smile small.

When Enjolras got home that night, he didn’t lay awake all night worrying about how stupid he had made himself look that evening. Instead he fell asleep remembering the feel of Grantaire’s hands covering his own as Grantaire helped shape his hands into the difficult signs Enjolras had struggled to master during their impromptu sign language lesson. And with that memory in his head, he decided telling Grantaire he was learning sign language was one of the greatest decisions he has ever made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally forgot to post notes with this originally. But basically if it isn't self explanatory, from now on if it is in double quotes "like this" it is spoken. If it is in italics it is written and if it is in italics with single quotes 'like this' it is in sign language. But I will try to make that obvious.
> 
> Also super sorry this took so long to upload. I had a lot of uni and stuff and my boyfriend landed himself in hospital, he is all good now, but it's been a stressful few weeks and so thank you for hanging in there and I do love that you guys are all super keen for new chapters and stuff and I will do my best to be a bit more prompt :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is perfect for Enjolras, but we already knew that right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so firstly; I AM SO SORRY IT HAS TAKEN ME SO LONG TO UPDATE!!! Like really and truly, I am so very sorry. My life kind of got very hectic and then I had writers block and then I was in Europe and had neither time nor internet connection to update easily, (where I am currently, updating on a boat on the way to Venice) but really and truly I am very sorry. Also I promise this fic will not be abandoned, I know exactly where I want this to go and exactly how I want it to end, there are about six-ish chapters left and I am going to try and get it out as soon as possible. Thank you so much for your patience, and I am so sorry once again.
> 
> Also if I reply to comments twice it is because the internet I am using is shocking and it keeps telling me things haven't worked when they have and then I have re-replied but it worked the first time and just ughh.

Much to Enjolras’ happiness the sign language lessons did not end with that first one. Whenever Grantaire and Enjolras hung out Grantaire would always take some time away from their arguments and discussions to teach Enjolras a little more sign language, always in a very hands on manner that Enjolras couldn’t help but love.

With Grantaires help alongside his other lessons, Enjolras found he was picking up sign language at a reasonably fast rate, something he was both happy and a little sad about. Happy, because the more he learnt, the easier it was for Grantaire and him to communicate. Because of this they could talk in more places, for example they now could sometimes go for walks in the park and continue talking which they could never have done if Grantaire was still having to write everything out. But he was sad because it meant a reduction in the number of written arguments he could bring home with him. Though maybe that was a good thing as it was probably getting a little ridiculous how much time he spent reading over those arguments in Grantaires messy scrawl, if he the original rate of new arguments had kept up, the majority of Enjolras’ free time would have soon be spent reading over the arguments he had had with Grantaire. It was also sad because eventually Enjolras would be good enough that it would put an end to Grantaire helping him shape the words with his own hands, and eventuality that was growing closer and closer, and that Enjolras was dreading.

Despite the bad things, or maybe in spite of the bad things, Enjolras was really enjoying his lessons with Grantaire, he felt as though it brought out a whole new side to him Enjolras had never seen before.

Enjolras knew Grantaire was kind and caring, but the sign language lessons showed not only a kindness and caring, but almost a fatherly aspect of Grantaire. There was something about Grantaires patience and seemingly endless support that seemed to scream to Enjolras what a good father he would be.

This fatherly aspect of Grantaire was brought into sharp relief one Wednesday when they had arranged to meet up after Grantaires work teaching art classes, so that they could go to another movie at The Lighthouse. This time it’s focus was on soul mates in the past, and the reaction when someone from the lower classes was paired with a member of the royalty or nobility. Enjolras was still slightly jittery about meeting Grantaire for arranged times, even though they had made arrangements several times to meet since that first time going to The Lighthouse. Because Enjolras was so jittery, he always turned up earlier than the agreed meeting time, and always after far too long fretting over what he was going to wear, how he was going to do his hair and what things they would end up talking about.

So he was early by about twenty minutes, which was probably the most he had ever been early by, and Grantaire had technically already finished his class, though he had asked Enjolras to come about half an hour after his class finished because he almost always ended up staying later to spend time  with at least one of the kids, something Enjolras was now seeing first hand.

Grantaire, his Grantaire, with his kind eyes, and soft looks and sweet words, had a child sitting on his lap.

He was a young boy with dark curly hair just like Grantaires and what looked to be a batman shirt on and a wicked smile plastered across his face while his hands moved with a rapidity that Enjolras could never hope to match, but that he knew Grantaire could, and the boy may as well have been Grantaires son, and Enjolras’ _heart._ He didn’t know what to do with the image of a young child sitting on Grantaires lap, with Grantaires arms circled around him to reach the paper on the table where it appeared he was drawing what the boy told him to in his rapid fire sign language, and Enjolras felt like he couldn’t breathe.

This wasn’t fair, and it was not okay. He loved children, he really, really did. Children were important children were the future and what they learnt and how they were brought up would dictate the way the world would be run in thirty or so years’ time. Children, especially young children, were so full of wonder and hope and were one of the main reasons Enjolras fought for a better tomorrow, because they deserved a better tomorrow, because prejudices and hatred were learnt, but if the world was better maybe they wouldn’t have to learn prejudices and hatred, and Enjolras _wanted_ that for them. Enjolras really, really loved children.

But he was absolutely terrified of having his own.

He knew he was intense, and he tended to get lost in causes and events and sometimes forget the world around him, and he could barely keep himself alive let alone a whole other human life. So because of all this he had decided a long time ago, that maybe having children wasn’t the best idea for him. Maybe simply being the doting, slightly eccentric uncle who would occasionally go on politically inspired lectures to his friends children would be enough. He could live with that, he really could.

But before his eighteenth, before he knew that he didn’t have a soulmate, he had hoped _desperately_ that whomever it was that was his soulmate, _they_ would be good with children. That maybe, with their help he could be a dad, and bring a child up free of prejudices and hate, and put at least one more human being on the planet who was willing to look past differences and problems to a world of equality and freedom.

And here was Grantaire. Being good with children. And Enjolras just couldn’t cope, he just couldn’t. This was not okay, this was not fair, Grantaire was perfect and Enjolras couldn’t have him and he just wanted to scream with the unfairness of it all.

But he couldn’t, cause Grantaire was right there, being brilliant. So Enjolras looked around, found a seat to sit in, and just watched the man he love fulfil every impossible dream Enjolras hadn’t let himself dream since he turned eighteen and found out he didn’t have a soulmate.

Enjolras hadn’t even noticed he had sat down next to a woman, presumably the mother of the child, until he heard her say.

“He’s pretty amazing isn’t he?” She says.

Enjolras startles slightly.

“Yeah, he is.” He says slightly dazedly. Unable to stop the thoughts of how brilliant he would be as a father.

“I would definitely recommend him.” She continues.

That snaps Enjolras out of it, did he say that last part out loud? Is she recommending him as a father? _Is_ that his son?

“I’m sorry, what?”  He ends up asking, instead of any of the above.

“If you are considering bringing your child here, I would do it. He really is amazing with them.”

Enjolras feels himself blush scarlet.

“Oh, no, I’m actually a friend of his, we were meant to meet up after his work, I’m a bit early, admittedly.” Enjolras says.

“Oh, right of course, you do look a bit young to have a child.”

They both laugh a bit awkwardly, Enjolras hoping they don’t catch Grantaires attention, and that he can just keep watching for a little bit longer, no matter how much of a creeper that makes him feel.

They don’t, and Enjolras does get to keep watching, for about fifteen minutes before the drawing is apparently completed and the young child hops off Grantaires lap, thanking him with a kiss to his check and running back toward his mother. Grantaire tracks the child’s movements with his eyes and so notices Enjolras with a start.

 _‘Enjolras’_ He signs, walking towards him, _‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here yet, you should have said something.’_

 _‘I didn’t want to interrupt.’_ He replied. Grantaire smiled, Enjolras felt his stomach flood with warmth as he smiled back.

_‘Well thank you, that was very kind.’_

They are briefly interrupted themselves after that, by the child and his mother saying thank you once again and goodbye.

Grantaire smiles after them in a way that makes Enjolras’ heart hurt, and then they head off towards the movie, Enjolras still stumbling occasionally, not having gotten used to walking and signing at the same time, struggling to concentrate on both at the same time. Grantaire, because he is a gentleman, ignores his stumbling, aside from occasionally reaching out a hand to steady him the few times it looks like he is actually going to fall.

Enjolras felt slightly guilty sitting in the movie theatre failing to pay any attention to the movie playing in front of him. He’s sure it’s very good, if the way Grantaire’s attention had been locked on the screen since it began, Enjolras is certain it is incredibly interesting, there is not much that can hold Grantaires attention in that way. Because of this he knows a lot of effort has been put into the movie, and he is sure under any other circumstances he himself would be paying rapt attention, but he can’t think of anything but Grantaire.

Because at some point between leaving the centre where Grantaire took his art classes, and making it to The Lighthouse, Enjolras came to a rather startling realisation. At some point, in the not too distant future, he was going to have to something about his feelings for Grantaire. He simply couldn’t not any longer. He couldn’t, it wasn’t possible, not after months of getting to know Grantaire, of falling more and more in love with him and then seeing him be so amazingly good with that little boy, Enjolras could still see the smile the id had on his face as Grantaire made his imaginings come to life on paper. Because that was it really, the straw that broke the camels back, the thing that took Grantaire from being closer to being Enjolras’ perfect soulmate than anyone before, to actually _being_ Enjolras’ perfect soulmate.

So Enjolras would have to say something, he had to, even if it meant Grantaire hated him and never wanted to see him again, Enjolras had to say something, had to know that at the very least he tried, otherwise he would never be able to talk about a better future or change ever again, knowing that he had let his chance for the best future simply pass by him.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is distracted. Combeferre has a serious conversation with him.

The idea of telling Grantaire about his feelings was stuck in Enjolras’ mind like a bur in an animal’s fur. He could shake it, couldn’t rid himself of it, and also couldn’t help picking at it.

What would happen? How would he tell him? Enjolras felt like it had to be more than just words, should be some grand gesture. But then maybe Grantaire wouldn’t like a grand gesture? Maybe solely words would be better. Enjolras was good with words, good at speeches.

Well he was mostly good at speeches, and unfortunately the only times he wasn’t god t speeches were times when Grantaire was distracting him, and Grantaire was _so_ distracting, and really how would he not distract Enjolras while he was trying to tell him that he loved him?

And what would his reaction be? Because that was what worried Enjolras more than anything else. What if he didn’t want to try to be more than friends? What if he was still holding out hope for his soulmate to want him back? What if, in the aftermath, he became so uncomfortable around Enjolras he didn’t want to hang out any more?

And so these thoughts went, around and around in Enjolras’ head. Circling round and chasing each other across his mind until it was all that he thought about in a constant loop of different scenarios of how to tell him followed by the repercussions of telling him. It was torture.

He was barely scrapping by on his uni work, putting things off until the last minute, doing the bare minimum that was required, and zoning out of lectures. He was just as bad at his part time job and only a little better at doing work for Les Amis, and that only because he was still hoping to impress Grantaire that way.

He wasn’t surprised when two, almost three weeks after deciding to tell Grantaire Combeferre noticed and decided to intervene in a way that only Combeferre could.

Enjolras was over at Combeferre’s apartment for breakfast as had become a Friday tradition even after Enjolras had finally attended and then decided to never attend again the support meetings Combeferre had suggested when after a pause in the conversation Combeferre cleared his throat in a way that called for attention.

“How has your research been going then?” He asked.

Enjolras, who had been pushing food around on his plate looked up trying to make his face look confused.

“Research?” He asked, feeling proud of himself for taking Combeferre’s trademark ‘one word answers that are often actually questions themselves’ technique.

“Yes.” Combeferre said. “Research.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but wonder why he never learned to stop congratulating himself when he thought he had one upped Combeferre, as he had never actually successfully done so. There was no one word answer-question to respond to this.

“What research?” Enjolras eventually settled on after a lengthy pause.

“You know what research.” Combeferre replied, a disapproving look in his eye. “About people who don’t have words.” He continued when Enjolras remained in sullen silence.

The research in question had not been going at all. Enjolras had backslide somewhat to the point where even the idea of finding out what was wrong with him, and he had once again convinced himself that it was something _wrong_ with _him_ , made him want to curl up into a ball, preferably in the warmth of Grantaire’s arms, and never talk to anyone ever again. Instead of admitting to that however Enjolras decided to lie. Fully forgetting the fact that he had never been able to lie to Combeferre before, and resolving to act as naturally as possible.

“It’s going well.” He replied, nodding excessively until he realised he was nodding excessively at which point he abruptly stopped, wincing at how incredibly unnatural he was acting.

“Hmm.” Combeferre hummed. “What have you discovered?” He asked after a pause.

“Well, a lot of stuff about aromantics.”

“That is what you started with.” Combeferre said making it a statement rather than a question.

“Yes.” Enjolras confirmed.

“And you were going to build up from that.” Once again, said as a statement.

“Yes.” Enjolras said again feeling glad the guilt he felt in his stomach hadn’t made its way into his voice.

“Enjolras that was weeks ago.” Combeferre said, much like a disappointed parent.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “I know, but I have just had a lot on my plate right now, I will get to it.”

“Right.” Combeferre looked away taking a deep breath as though stealing himself for something.

Enjolras felt his stomach clench in fear thinking of what that something might be.

“Have you learnt anything about what happens to soulmates who, for some reason or other, can’t be with their soulmate in the way they are destined to be? Whether there are any,” Combeferre paused awkwardly, ”negative side effects?”

“No. Why?” He asked. Thoughts instantly going to Grantaire, hot rage burning its way down his spine at even the hint that maybe by choosing to not be in his life Grantaire’s soulmate was hurting Grantaire who had had no choice.

Combeferre sighed. “You’ve been very distracted recently. Not being as diligent with school work or your job. It’s out of character and I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine. Don’t change the subject. Why do you ask that?” Enjolras asked and then without missing a breath, throwing caution into the wind, knowing Combeferre already knew anyway so what harm could it do he asked “Is Grantaire okay?”

All Enjolras could think about was Grantaire and what Combeferre meant. Did he mean mental negative side effects like depression or anxiety? Or was it physical? There were myths and rumours always circling about soulmates with soul bounds so strong they could tell when the other was near, or if they were hurt, or feeling a particularly strong emotion, what if was making him physically ill, what if it would kill him? Because Enjolras couldn’t let that happen. He would track the bastard down and make him see how amazingly brilliant Grantaire was. Even if that ruined any and all chance Enjolras had with Grantaire, if Grantaire was alive, and happy, and healthy, both mentally and physically then Enjolras was happy.

“I’m not changing the subject.” Combeferre started.

Enjolras gave him what he hoped was a reproving look.

“I’m not. Truly. There is nothing wrong with Grantaire. That I know about anyway. I am worried about you. I’m asking whether there are negative side effects because I am worried about you.”

“I don’t have a soulmate.” Enjolras said almost automatically, it didn’t even hurt saying it this time as his body was so flooded with relief he was fairly certain he could be hit by a freight train and not feel anything but relief that Grantaire was okay. And in fact, the overwhelming rush of relief and the loud, attention demanding thought of ‘ _he’s okay, I’m not going to lose him’_ running through his headnearly made him miss what Combeferre said next.

“That you know of.” He said so quietly it would probably be more accurately classed as a mutter or a murmur.

“What do you mean that I know of?” Enjolras asked in a way that came out fierce and harsher than he ever intended.

Another deep breath and Combeferre lifted his eyes to meet Enjolras’. “Well, I mean, you don’t know.”

Enjolras huffed. He did know, _had known_ since he was 18 years old.

“No listen to me,” Combeferre said before Enjolras got a chance to properly refute him. “You don’t know that you don’t have a soul mate, what you know is that you don’t have any words, yet. But you don’t know what that means. Maybe you are right, maybe you don’t have a soulmate, but maybe it is an entirely different reason that you haven’t even thought of, that you would never consider unless you did the research.”

A few months ago Enjolras wold have grasped on to that idea like a life-line, an idea that really had never crossed his mind. But now, now he didn’t want anything but Grantaire. No soulmate, no matter how perfect could match up to Grantaire. It made him want to do research even less than before.

“Why would you think that?” He asked Combeferre. “Why would you say that?”

“It came to mind after something Bahorel said about his mother. Why I said it? Because I want you to be happy, and I really and truly think looking into what it means when you don’t have a tattoo will help you be happy.”

After an awkward silence followed by an awkward goodbye Enjolras headed home. He didn’t know what to think about what Combeferre had said. Just as he didn’t know what to think about a lot of things in life. But maybe that was his lot in life. And he was okay if that was his lot in life, he was also okay with never knowing why he didn’t have a tattoo, for he had decided many weeks ago after arguments and conversations that made Enjolras happier than almost everything else that as long as he has Grantaire in his life, he will be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it has been a long long while since I updated, so sorry. Firstly I had this whole chapter written and then I decided that I wanted the plot to go an entirely different way so I needed to re-write it but I wasn't sure how. Then uni work got in the way. I also have a few issues with mental health that have been getting the better of me recently and my thoughts have been straying more towards the negative, so I am sorry if that is reflected in this.  
> Bit of a shorter chapter than usual. Also I kind of wanted this conversation to be between Enjolras and Courfeyrac but I couldn't make it flow, so I am sorry, and I will try to get more Courfeyrac in later as I feel he has been sorely neglected in this and he is one of my favourite characters ever.  
> Anyway, sorry for the kind of long note, hope you guys enjoyed this, I will do my best to update sooner from now on.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is cute when he sleeps. And maybe the sharing of books isn't the best way to communicate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it has been a while, like a long while, but I am still writing this. It will be finished one day and I thank everyone who has stuck with it so far for your patience and I apologise for how long it takes me to update, you guys have all been so understanding and kind about it so thank you <3 and also just thank you to everyone who has commented in the past, especially since the last time I posted, reading over those kind of motivated me to finally (FINALLY) finish this chapter and post it, so THANK YOU <3 <3 <3

Well this was just supremely unfair. None of his dreams, day dreams, or even any of the errant thoughts that would float across his mind through the foggy haze of sleep after just having woken up could have ever prepared him for what he was seeing now. And what he was seeing now was supremely unfair.

Enjolras was in the library looking up books on monks and priests and any other religious role that lead to celibacy and in some cases even the covering or mutilation of soul mate tattoos. Grantaire had given him the idea. After he discovered Enjolras had devoured the book about the aromantic with a soulmate tattoo in quite literally less than a day, he had laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners and pulled another book from the messenger bag that was slung across his shoulder.

He said he had only just finished it himself and that it was a good read. It was a fiction rather than a non-fiction set many centuries ago about a young man who instead of getting words on his eighteenth birthday got strange symbols on his back between his shoulder blades. After much deliberation by the people of his town the conclusion reached was that it was the language of angels, placed where an angels wings would be, and that this meant he was blessed. The outcome of this was that he then became the towns priest. He was revered by all and as word spread about the man whose soulmate was an angel more and more people came from across the country to meet him, to touch him, just to _see_ him. It wasn’t long before he was being introduced to nobility and kings and queens. Many years later the king of his own country was planning a trip across the ocean, to the other side of the world, he wanted the man with an angel for a soulmate to go with them, for his soulmate would surely protect the expedition in an attempt to protect their soulmate. After many months of traveling they arrived on a distant shore where they meet a group of people who spoke a strange language, and whose writing was that of the symbols between his shoulders.  The symbols, it turned out were Chinese characters and not the writing of an angel at all. After being shunned by his own people as a fraud, despite the fact it was originally them and not himself who had claimed he was the soulmate of an angel, he was accepted by his soulmate and her family and they lived a very happy life.

Grantaire was of course right, it was thoroughly interesting and Enjolras was gripped from start to finish, and Combeferre had expressed pride in the fact that Enjolras was continuing his research into soulmate tattoos, even if it was slightly off topic. It was when Enjorlas was reading the author’s introduction, that he had admittedly skipped when first reading it, that he discovered that, while fiction, it was based on a kind of culmination of several different true recorded stories from history. He had decided to go to the library and look further into it. In reality had had no real intention of reading the books, the last thing he wanted was to discover that the absence of a tattoo meant he was destined to be bound to a god he had trouble believing even existed. But he had figured, just leaving the books lying around his apartment and carrying them around in his bag would be enough to keep Combeferre off his back if only for a little while.

So there he was at the library, and there Grantaire was, curled up in a bean bag, a book lying open in his lax grip, his face snuggled into his hoodie, curls falling out of his beanie and partially covering his eyes which were lightly closed in sleep. And it wasn’t fair, how many times Enjolras had dreamt about seeing Grantaire like this, dreamt about waking up to Grantaire in his bed, legs tangled with his, eye’s shut just like this and the feel of his even breath upon Enjolras’ neck, but none of that could have prepared him for this.

Grantaire was beautiful in sleep. Face entirely relaxed, lips slipping into something reminiscent of a pout. Eyes lightly closed, eyelashes stark against his pale cheeks, chest gently rising and falling with each breath. Enjolras isn’t sure how long he stood there staring, he only knows it was a creepily long time, and well before he is ready to turn his eyes away, the even breathing of the man before him changes slightly, his eyelashes flutter, following the movement of his eyelids, and a second later they open revealing the hazel eyes beneath.

The breath rushes out of Enjolras and he feels his face colour as those eyes focus on him and recognition filters through the gaze before confusion causes a wrinkle in his brow and his eyebrows are drawn down and closer together. It’s when his head tilts in a silent question that Enjolras finally tries to stutter out an explanation.

“I – I – um. Books.” He says eloquently.

The confusion stays in place on Grantaires face but a smile joins it.

“I was, uh, looking for books. About um, the history of soulmate tattoo’s. And religion?” The inflection at the end of the word ‘religion’ turns it into a question, but it isn’t a question and Enjolras wants to hit himself in the head with the small stack of books he is holding in his hand.

The smile fades from Grantaires face and Enjolras wants to know what he did wrong, more than that he wants to know how to get it back.

“I just thought that book you leant me was interesting and so I was looking into the history behind it.” If anything this statement makes it worse, the absence of a smile is now replaced by the presence of a frown and Enjolras can’t work out _why_ and it is killing him.

Before he can say anything more though Grantaire is rummaging in his messenger bag, the same bag that is always with him, the same bag the book came from that is the reason he is now here, trying desperately to work out how to make Grantaire smile again, that soft, almost fond smile he had before. He pulls out a yellow legal pad and a pen before sitting up slightly, just a little bit more upright.

For a moment Grantaire just kind of stares at the paper before him, the pen poised to write in his hand, Enjolras is reminded of that first day, the first time he had ever met this absolutely incredible man, and he wants to be back there. To be able to experience everything that lead up to this moment all over again, only do it in a way that meant he never had to see the worried frown on Grantaires face and know he was the one who caused it. And he still desperately wants to know _why_ , what he did _wrong._ Enjolras should really stop being surprised at how far gone he is for Grantaire at this point, but this is truly ridiculous, being this upset solely because of the little furrow in the brow of the man before him, the slight downturn of his lips.

Before he thinks further on the matter Grantaire has started writing and then he is passing the legal pad to Enjolras.

 _You’re really interested in this stuff aren’t you_?

Enjolras feels his stomach clamp in fear as he tries to think of a way to answer without giving too much away. Apparently he took too long as there is a huff and Grantaire takes the legal pad back.

_It’s not a bad thing if you are, I’m just curious, normally if people are interested in this sort of thing they kind of look into it earlier in life you know?_

Enjolras supposes it is a fair question.

“I guess I just wasn’t that interested until recently.”

_Until the meeting?_

Grantaire worries his lip with his teeth as he hands the paper back, and if Enjolras wasn’t distracted by how cute it looked he probably would have noticed the anxiety clear in Grantaires eyes, but as it was he couldn’t look away from that lip. It takes him a moment to even look at the page before him

“Uh, around then yeah.” Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to lie to Grantaire, but then he also couldn’t bring himself to tell him the truth: since I fell absolutely and completely in love with you.

_Do you ever think about them?_

Grantaire hesitates in handing over the paper this time, considers not giving it to Enjolras, taking the paper back, crossing the words out, pretending he never wrote them, that they never existed in that order on that piece of paper that is now in Enjolras’ hand, but he doesn’t.

Enjolras takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly after reading the words.

“Everyday.” He says quietly to the paper, not looking at Grantaire, not seeing the pain that flits across his face before his expression hardens, he squares his shoulders, steeling himself, and stands up.

Enjolras surprised by the movement looks up from the paper to where Grantaire is now standing.

He gently takes the paper from Enjolras who lets it slip from his slightly numb feeling fingers.

 _I want to lend you another book. Do you want to get your books out then we could go back to mine? It’s not that far from here._ The page says when it is handed back to him.

Enjolras just nods dazedly before walking over to the self-checkout. In all the time that they have known each other all the times they have hung out, he has never not once been to Grantaire’s apartment, and he’s not so sure he is going to be able to survive it.

He just knows the place is going to be filled to the brim with everything Grantaire, and he really, _really_ , doesn’t want to see his bed, especially after seeing him asleep on the bean bag in the library, he just knows from the second he sees the bed he won’t be able to think about anything other than Grantaire all snuggled up in it. The thoughts will almost certainly include a shirtless Grantaire, and Enjolras isn’t wholly sure he wants to know what the consequences will be of those kinds of thoughts in the presence of Grantaire.

But he follows Grantaire out the door of the library none the less. They walk in silence, Enjolras doesn’t trust his brain right now to be able to look at Grantaire and not do something stupid. He uses the walk over to Grantaires flat to try and calm himself, leaning his head back slightly to feel like full effects of the slight wind blowing across his face and through his hair.

The walk is too short by far and Enjolras’ head is still something of a mess of swirling emotions by the time they get there.

Grantaire hesitates slightly at the door leading into the building, but then he is unlocking the door and leading Enjolras up some steps.

Once they get to the flat Enjolras sees that it is everything he feared it would be.

There are film posters on the walls and photography and art, some that is beautifully done and some that Enjolras is sure was created by Grantaires students at the centre (and of course Grantaire is the type of person to actually hang it upon his walls). There are books scattered across every available surface, and book cases taking up every space of wall not covered by everything else. There is mismatched furniture and a television that looks as though its only use is as another place to stack books and things and only occasionally used for the purpose it was designed for. There is also a Bahorel sitting on one of the pieces of furniture, a couch covered in a floral pattern, with his feet up on a coffee table occupying the only space on the table that doesn’t have books on it.

“Sup.” Bahorel calls with an exaggerated head nod that somehow doesn’t look completely ridiculous.

Enjolras had forgotten Bahorel lived with Grantaire, and he relaxed a fraction, this was good, Bahorel could act as a buffer between whatever weirdness was going on between Enjolras and Grantaire. The weirdness that Enjolras still couldn’t work out the cause of, he felt like he was missing something. Or maybe it was more a feeling of presque-vu, there was something at the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite reach but he could feel it there, and if only he could reach it, remember it, maybe this would all make sense.

Standing awkwardly beside an awkwardly standing Grantaire, Enjolras sees Bahorel’s eyes flick between the two of them.

“Riiiiiiight” He say’s drawing the word out before abruptly getting to his feet. “Well, I’m going to go finish my cereal in my room.” He declares.

Well that erases the chance of a Bahorel buffer. Enjolras grasps onto anything he can to get Bahorel to stay even a little longer.

“Cereal? It is four in the afternoon.” Enjolras says.

“Yup.” Is the only response Enjolras gets as Bahorel disappears into his room.

After some more awkward standing Grantaire bumps Enjolras’ shoulder with his own. When Enjolras looks at him he tips his head in the direction of the couch indicating with his hand that he can sit down. Enjolras tentatively sits on the edge of one of the cushions watching as Grantaire goes to one of the bookshelves and pulls out a book. He then takes an aborted step back towards Enjolras before turning around and walking through a door different from the one Bahorel exited through.

Enjolras sits for bit wondering what is going on, if he should follow. Before he makes a decision Grantaire is back with another book tucked under the first. Enjolras stands up, concerned about the worry written clearly across Grantaires face.

Grantaire walks over to Enjolras and without looking away from his face hands Enjolras the books.

Enjolras glances down at the books freezing when he notices the title of the first one, and it feels as though a bucket of ice has been dumped over him. He feels the colour drain from his face.

**_Soulmates Before the Written Word:  
How The Soulmate Process Worked Without Tattoos._ **

There was a buzzing in his ears, the cold terror of before is replaced with an overbearing heat that makes his eyes sting. He feels exactly as he did the day of his eighteenth birthday, locked in the bathroom confronted with the absence of any words on any part of his skin. The buzzing in his ears is replaced with the litany of two words he thinks over and over again.

“I- I have to go.” He manages to stutter out before turning on his heel and walking out the door as quickly as he can, practically running by the time he reaches the street. The same two words continuing to repeat over and over again in his head.

_He Knows._

 

 

After Enjolras leaves Grantaire takes a deep breath, and then another one, trying to calm the storm in his mind. Oh god, why did he do that? Why did he think it was a good idea? His eyes stay locked on the door that had slammed shut at the sudden departure of his soulmate. He didn’t notice Bahorel coming back into the room, presumably summoned by the slamming of the very door Grantaire couldn’t look away from.

Then Bahorel was in front of him, hands on his shoulders, mouthing “what’s wrong? What happened?”

 _‘I fucked up.’_  Was all Grantaire signed before he collapsed into the arms of his friend, burying his head in Bahorels shoulder, desperately trying to ignore the pain in his heart that told him it was breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am not sure that in a world with obvious and tangible soulmates would be a world in which certain religions had celibate practitioners (if that is the right word), but I kind of think that they would. Maybe. I hope this was alright, my thoughts are kind of slightly scattered and all over the place so I am sorry if this is kind of disjointed. Also sorry that this is a bit of a cliff hanger.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire's side of things.

Grantaire turned eighteen alone. He had planned it that way, although in fairness, he was aided in the time of his birth. 1.03 in the morning. The night before he had gone to dinner with his parents, Bahorel, and Bahorel’s parents. Bahorel had offered to stay with Grantaire wait up with him to find out what his words were but Grantaire had wanted to be alone.

He wasn’t overly sure what he was hoping for, or what he was dreading. He had spent a large part of his childhood researching soulmate tattoos, especially after what had happened with Bahorel’s parents. He knew all the ways in which it could go wrong. All the difficulties he could face based on what appeared, or what didn’t appear, but still, he just didn’t know what he wanted.

At 1.03 exactly he felt an itching on his ribs and scrambled to the mirror in his bathroom to read the inverted writing.

It was in Three lines:

Grantaire.  
Grand R, R, I like it.  
It’s very clever.

He couldn’t help the small smile that formed upon his lips. He was inordinately pleased with the pun he had made of his name at the tender age of eight, it was nice to think his soulmate thought his eight year old self clever.

Without taking his eyes away from the words reflected to him backwards he ran reverent fingers over them, barely noticing the way the light touch tickled his skin, too caught up in the fact that these words belonged to an actual real live person who he would meet one day, and who would, hopefully, one day love him more than he had ever been loved before.

 

Love was a somewhat strange concept for Grantaire. He knew his parents loved him, in their own way, but it was hard for them. Due to underlying medical conditions his father had had a stroke at barely the age of 30. It meant the left side of his face was somewhat paralysed which made it even more difficult for Grantaire to read his lips than anyone else’s and reading lips was hard enough as it was, with his father’s half paralysed face it was practically impossible. Worse still, his left hand had very little function in it meaning that signing was exceedingly difficult for him. His father still tried though, Grantaire knew he did, but Grantaire still felt excruciatingly alone when only his father was home, which was the majority of the time. To pay for his father’s medical bills and keep on top of everything else Grantaire’s mother had to work two jobs. It meant she was very rarely home and that when she was home generally all she wanted was to sleep so Grantaire hardly ever saw her, and felt like whenever he did see her she was castigating him.

Grantaire had been profoundly deaf since the moment he entered the world due to in utero complications. This made it nearly impossible for him to learn how to speak, and completely impossible for him to ever gauge exactly how loud he was. This lead to many days when he would wake his mother because he was being too loud. And every time she would sign at him with fierce, sharp, angry movements. It took years to train himself to try to be as quiet as possible, carefully paying attention to the reactions of those around him to calculate how loud he was, learning the difference a step on a wooden board that would creak felt compared to one that didn’t. Lowering glasses and crockery with carefully calculated movements to limit the sound as much as possible. Shutting doors behind him as softly and gently as possible. They were habits he had never quite trained himself out of.

Bahorel’s parents had loved him, as much as they could anyway. Grantaire remembered being fourteen and seeing two women on the parents board discussing Bahorel and his father. Bahorel’s father was not his biological father. It was rare, practically unheard of for couples who were not soulbonded to have children. But Bahorel’s mother had had Bahorel before she had met her soulmate, Bahorel’s real father, if not his biological one. It was one of the reason Grantaire and Bahorel had become so close so early on. Bahorel was avoided as though tainted because everyone knew his biological parents weren’t soulmates, and the other kids didn’t know what to do with the strange quiet boy who couldn’t hear them when they called. So they became close, brothers almost, Grantaire had truly considered them family until he read the lips of those two women. It was at a parents evening at their school. The women probably thought they were too far away to be heard, but they were facing Grantaire and his eyesight had always been good. He read their lips with a sinking feeling in his stomach as they discussed the fact that Bahorel’s father surely couldn’t love a child that wasn’t biologically his, that he was proof that Bahorel’s mother couldn’t wait long enough to meet her soulmate.

In the years since that night, both Bahorel and Bahorel’s parents and proven over and over again how very wrong those women were, but still. No matter how often Bahorel proved he saw Grantaire as a brother, how often Bahorel's parents acted as though he were their son, Grantaire couldn’t help but feel it would be different, better, if he really was part of their family.

And so he looked forward to the day he met his soulmate with barely containable excitement. His soulmate would be different. This was someone who was meant to love him. This was someone who would truly be family. And surely there would be no obstacles with them as with his family. Surely someone who was meant to be with him would be able to communicate freely and openly with him in a way his parents never had, with soft loving movements.

Admittedly he was slightly surprised when he even got words. He knew that only the first words actually verbally spoken would appear on the skin of the person they were meant for, written words, even signed words wouldn’t do. Grantaire saw it as a flaw in the universe, a flaw in the soulmate system, surely any form of communication should do? But no, and Grantaire was fine with that, really, there were still ways for him to find his soulmate. He had researched it thoroughly, and basically even without words, he would feel ‘drawn to’ his soulmate. All the books he has read said that as soon as soulmates met they felt the need to see each other more than anyone else, with or without the words.

So Grantaire had almost expected to not have words, had expected his soulmate to be just as deaf as he was, to rely on the old methods before the written word became a thing, before the masses became proficient in literacy. To simply be drawn to one person above all the others. So he was surprised, though not upset on his eighteenth birthday to find himself staring at words tattooed on his ribs.

He smiled to himself, running his fingers across the words again and trying to mouth them to himself so that when the time came he would recognise the words immediately. Lip reading was hard, and far from an exact science; there are so many words that look so like so many other words. But he was good at it, better than a lot of people he knew, and he would learn the shape of these words before he met his soulmate, he was sure of it. And he was sure the meeting of his soulmate was ahead of him rather than behind. He would have remembered anyone calling his pun clever, as no one but Bahorel and his parents had ever seemed to appreciate it.

It took about a week for Grantaire to build up the courage to ask Bahorel to say the words on his ribs to Grantaire. Because he had never learnt to speak Grantaire wasn’t entirely sure that the shapes he was making with his mouth were the right ones.

Bahorel had laughed, his lips stretched wide with laughter, the way the people who were in the café turned to look at them Grantaire was sure it was loud, Bahorel was never afraid to be loud. He clapped Grantaire on the shoulder before signing in large enthusiastic gestures ‘of course my friend.’

It was the first time Grantaire asked him to speak the words but it was not the last. Over and over Bahorel would say them to Grantaire. Over time it became something of a tradition. Always around his birthday Bahorel would say them, and whenever Grantaire was feeling down and dejected Bahorel could simply speak the words and the corners of Grantaires mouth would twitch up as though simply the idea of a soulmate out there, waiting for him, was enough to give him hope of better times.

Bahorel worried sometimes, surely it wasn’t healthy to put so much hope and happiness on a future relationship, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Grantaire deserved happiness, and he would get it, or Bahorel would make someone a very, very unhappy person indeed.

It was a Thursday when Grantaire met him, his soulmate. He couldn’t stop the smile, every time he thought about it. He had a soulmate a fiery passionate man with blond curls and long fingers, a soulmate who didn’t think his rambles were boring but thought them interesting. A soulmate who would wait for him to write out his response rather than talking over him, let him finish his thoughts with words that were his rather than supplying words that weren’t his and weren’t what he was going to say. It was amazing and it was brilliant and Grantaire was a coward because he didn’t want to lose him.

He had been so nervous when he first read the words on Enjloras’ lips. It almost didn’t hit him at first, he was so used to seeing them on Bahorels lips that he almost didn’t realise what was happening. But then he did and he had been frozen. What does one say to ones soulmate when said soulmate doesn’t know that you are soulmates? So he paused and he thought, then realised it had been too long and he was looking weird so he hastily scribbled the first thing he could think of; So you’re friends with Bahorel?

And it had gone from there and it had been wonderful. And Grantaire couldn’t tell him, it was too much, all at once so he didn’t. He told himself he would tell Enjolras at the meeting for Les Amis, but then there were so many people there and if everything went wrong he didn’t want it to happen in front of all of Enjolras’ friends, so he didn’t. And then. . . well, then Enjolras told him he was going to meetings for people whose soulmates had died. It was like a physical blow.

Had he been wrong? Was Enjolras not his soulmate? Or did he just not want a soulmate like Grantaire?

He had gone home that night and cried and cried and cried. When he saw Bahorel he had known something was wrong. So Grantaire told him, told him that he had meet his soulmate, but that his soulmate didn’t want him, he didn’t tell him it was Enjolras though, that was too much too far. Bahorel was angry. He raged and he shouted, his movements sharp and vicious it put Grantaire on edge, but he didn’t say anything didn’t stop him, he just let him rage.

After that Bahorel stopped saying his words to him; they had stopped making him smile.

It wasn’t much later that he got the text, the text that was apparently meant for Combeferre that said that Enjolras was going to look into soul tattoos.

Did this mean he just didn’t know? Didn’t know what the absence of a tattoo most likely meant his soulmate didn’t speak? It put a flare of hope in his heart. Maybe Enjolras did want him, would want him.

But he wasn’t sure so he said nothing, said nothing and continued to torture himself. Continued to see Enjolras despite the doubt in his mind that said Enjolras didn’t want him, not the way he wanted Enjolras.

Because even if Enjolras didn’t know about soulmates surely he would have felt the pull, felt the tug in his chest that would pushed him towards Grantaire if he was Grantaire’s soulmate, the one that would mirror the feeling in Grantaire’s chest? Surely even without the tattoo he would work it out? He would know?

So Grantaire said nothing.

And it went on for a while longer the two of them going out, spending time together on things Grantaire refused to call dates until he bumped into Enjolras in the library, and he decided enough was enough. It was torture not knowing if Enjolras was his soulmate and knew but didn’t want him, if he didn’t know, if he wasn’t even Grantaires soulmate and the tug Grantaire felt was just wishful thinking, was simply love without the push of the soulbond, he knew that was possible knew that it happened.

So he took Enjolras home, got out the book and prepared to tell Enjolras everything, prepared himself to explain, hoped he wasn’t going to make a fool out of himself and handed the book to Enjolras.

And Enjolras, Enjolras fled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this has been a while, like a really really long while, so sorry about that. I kind of had a lot of stuff going on and just got completely blocked in terms of any writing. I know it has been a long time but I am still not completely out of the woods, still struggling a bit with life so this isn't as good as it could be, but I just want to get it finished and then maybe in a bit when I feel less like I do now and more like a person I will come back over it and polish it up a bit. There are maybe two more chapters after this one? Can't promise when they will be out but they will. And thanks to everyone who has commented, you are all lovely, and I love you all.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras is sad. Bahorel tells a story with a better ending than that of Romeo and Juliet, then Enjolras gets determined.

Enjolras wanted the world to stop existing. He just wanted it to all go away and let him sleep and wallow in his misery, just for a little while, just until he felt like a person again. Grantaire knew, he _knew_ , and now he probably would never look at Enjolras the way Enjolras looked at him, feel the way Enjolras felt.

 

Maybe if Enjolras had built up the courage to tell him. Maybe if they had been dating a while before Grantaire found out. Maybe. . . just maybe if he had done things differently things would be different now, things would be better.

 

But nothing was different, life was the way that it was and Enjolras just wanted the world to stop existing, just for a little while. But the world would not stop existing, no matter how much he wished it, as became apparent when someone started banging on his door.

 

Enjolras closed his eyes and lifted the blankets up higher over his head, snuggled deeper in the fluffy warmth and curled himself tighter around the pillow he held to his chest. Maybe if he ignored it whoever it was would go away, maybe things could be different.

 

Whoever it was seemed to give up after the third round of banging and Enjolras opened his eyes again, staring at the darkness that existed inside his cocoon of blankets, trying to breathe deep despite feeling like there wasn’t quite enough air in the world beneath his blankets. He was startled when someone through open his door.

 

“Listen up asshole, I’m gonna tell you a story.” It was Bahorel. Why was it Bahorel?

 

Enjolras lifted his head and stared blearily at Bahorel. “What?” He croaked out.

 

“It is a story not even remotely filled with more woe than that of Juliet and her Romeo and it certainly has a happier ending.” He said throwing himself onto Enjolras’ bed and making him bounce slightly.

 

“How did you even get in here?” Enjolras asked.

 

“Picked the locks.”

 

Enjolras levelled an incredulous stare at him.

 

“What?” He asked “It’s a useful skill R and I taught ourselves when we were like fifteen. If it makes you feel better this is the first time I’ve used said skill?”

 

“What about me makes you think I would even remotely believe that?” Enjolras asked.

 

“Fair. Aaaaanyway. My story.”

 

He looked at Enjolras as if daring him to prevent him telling the story. Enjolras just shrugged helplessly and gestured for him to continue.

 

“Many years ago, in fair Verona were we lay are scene. Just kidding, promise that is the last of the Romeo and Juliet references, stupid play, don’t know why it is the most famous of Shakespeare’s works, like why would anyone even. . .” Bahorel trailed off seeing the look on Enjolras’ face.

 

“Right, so you know my dad is not my biological father right?” At Enjolras’ nod Bahorel continued.

 

“So my mum doesn’t have any words.”

 

“He _told_ you!” Enjolras couldn’t help shouting out, how could he? How could he just tell Bahorel and not think about what that would mean to Enjolras, why would he do that? Before his head could go into a complete tail spin however Bahorel interjected.

 

“Grantaire hasn’t told me shit. 90 percent of the problem right now is you fuckers not telling me shit, so don’t get all uppity at him or me when literally everything could be solved right now and everyone would be happy if you two could just communicate better. Huh. Kinda like Romeo and Juliet actually.” Bahorel looked thoughtful before seemingly shaking himself out of it.

 

“Anyway, Romeo and Juliet and that whole shit show are not the point at the moment, now are you gonna shut up and let me tell you my story or am I gonna have to smack you upside the head?”

 

Enjolras opened his mouth to answer “Uh.” Bahorel interrupted before he even made a sound. Enjolras tried to talk once more before being interrupted again in the exact same manner. Getting the message he leaned back and mimed zipping his lips.

 

“Good. _So_ my mum doesn’t have any words. And basically her mum was this horrible old bitch who would say all sorts of nasty things to her about how that meant she didn’t have a soul, and she was unlovable and just really awful shit. And my mum believed her, for a long time she believed her.

 

“Then one day she was like, ‘maybe I don’t need a soulmate to be loved?’ and so she decided she would have a kid right? Cause no matter what her mum said my mum still loved her, so she thought she would have a kid and be loved.

 

“So fast forward a few years, she meets this guy, hangs out with him a few times, gets pregnant with me and bails. And I mean she _bails_ , the whole town pretty much turned against her so she fled the city and never looked back.

 

“And she is the greatest mum ever right? Like she worked hard cause we were a single income family but she always made time for me and she loved me and I loved her back and we were happy man, like so happy.

 

“And yeah, okay, so a lot of people would look down on us, act like there was something wrong with us cause it was just me and her and no soulmate, there had never been a soulmate, so they thought we were ‘lesser’ or whatever. And yeah, that sucked, meant I didn’t have a lot of friends, but we had each other, we were happy.

 

“Then one day this deaf kid shows up to class, and all the other kids are little pricks, and the teachers do fuck all about it cause ‘that’s how kids are’ or whatever. But me and this deaf kid become friends right? Like real close friends, me and R, best friends, and I get to cut out of class and do work with R and his special teacher that the school can only afford for like an hour a day, who is also completely deaf.

 

“So I end up picking up sign language, asked my mum for lessons, had this whole speech ready about how I knew it was an extra cost but it was _so_ important, and mum being the legend she is said yes the second she heard it was for a friend and I didn’t even get like a full sentence into my speech.

 

“I ended up taking the sign language with R’s special teacher right? And so for a while, I just stay after school with R and his special teacher learning sign and having a good time. And me and R love it right? Cause we’ve never had an adult treat us the way the teacher treats us, talk to us the way he talks to us. I don’t have a dad, and R’s parents, I mean they love him, and they try, but it’s hard having a deaf kid, and they have all these other problems, so just, yeah. We love it.

 

“For ages I have these lessons, we hang out with the teacher, and then mum comes and picks us up from the school gates. But this one day, this one day we stay late. I can’t even remember what he was telling us about, but we all got so into it and we were late. So mum comes in to find us, and she must have been watching us silently cause it took a while for us to notice her, and we all look at her guiltily, but she just laughs and says ‘you really are wonderful with them.’

 

“And the teacher, his jaw just drops, and he signs, ‘oh my god it’s you’, and me and R and like, ‘she’s who?’ Right? And Mr. Rogers, Mr. Rogers, just stands up, walks over to her and takes his sweater off, and there on his bicep, in my mums hand writing are the words ‘you really are wonderful with them’.

 

“So we all go out to dinner, Mr. Rogers and my mum and R and me, and we have the best time, and I have a dad and my mum has a soulmate, and thus the Trojans buried Hektor Breaker of Horses.”

 

“Wait, what?” Enjolras asks, having forgotten he wasn’t meant to speak after getting so caught up in the story, and then completely confused by the non-sequitur.

 

“I don’t even know man, it’s the last line of the Iliad, R has this whole speech about how it’s the greatest ending to a story ever, my story needed a better ending than Romeo and Juliet and I figured go big or go home right? Anyway, the point is. My mum didn’t have words. She had a baby, left town, and stayed enough of an outcast that her son ended up becoming best friends with the deaf kid cause he was left on the outside too, all cause she didn’t have words. The world works the way the world works. And you need to talk to R. Ask him why he knows you don’t have words, ask him why he hasn’t mentioned it before, just talk to him man. The world works the way the world works, and if you just talk to each other, maybe it will all work for you guys. Also, I would be super keen for you and R not to fall victim to some messed up accidental double suicide just cause you don’t communicate properly. Also I lied about the end of the Romeo and Juliet references, but you deserve them for all the shit you and R have put me through. ”

 

Enjolras sat in silence for a while, taking it in, thinking about what Bahorel had said. He had never heard the story of how Bahorel’s parents got together before, he knew Max wasn’t Bahorel’s biological father, but he had never heard the full story. He never knew Bahorel’s mum didn’t have words.

 

Suddenly Enjolras didn’t want to be in his blanket cocoon any more. He needed to go he needed to see Grantaire. Hope was blooming in his chest and he needed to find out if it was deserved or not. He looked at Bahorel to see him grinning widely.

 

“Alright, I gotta bounce, things to see, people to do, and all that. Probably won’t go back to the apartment tonight you know, lotta shit to get done.” Grinning widely he clapped Enjolras on the shoulder and left.

 

Enjolras was out of his blankets and heading towards the bathroom before the door even closed. He was halfway through brushing his hair having just brushed his teeth, trying to make himself look presentable after an afternoon spent under blankets before he decided he didn’t even care. He had to go see R now, he had to talk to him, actually talk to him and maybe, just maybe, things could be different now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So three years since I started this, and the second to last chapter is finally being posted! I'm posting the final chapter literally right after this, so no more waiting!!  
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it is mostly Bahorel, and I kind of loved writing it. Also 'Thus the Trojans buried Hektor Breaker of Horses' is my favourite line in the Iliad and the greatest ending and I actually do have a whole speech about why haha.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire are soulmates, and they finally both know it.

Enjolras didn’t even make it out of his apartment.

 

Rushing to his door he flung it open only to almost be hit in the face with the fist Grantaire was about to use to knock on his door.

 

They both froze, looking at each. It seemed to go on for an eternity before they both unfroze.

 

‘ _I’m sorry’_ they signed simultaneously.

 

Enjolras found himself laughing as Grantaire’s eyes crinkled.

 

‘ _I’m sorry,’_ Grantaire started again, ‘ _I shouldn’t have just handed you the book, I should have done it differently, I didn’t mean to upset you.’_

_‘No,_ no.’ Enjolras signs emphatically, _‘I shouldn’t have run, I should have stayed and talked, I just thought. . .’_ He trailed off, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened his eyes, ‘ _I don’t have a soulmate tattoo.’_

 

Grantaire’s smile seemed small and almost sad _‘I know.’_

 

Enjolras huffed out a breath of a laugh. ‘ _I know you know.’_ They both smiled at each other. Enjolras closed his eyes again, he couldn’t say this is if he could see Grantaire’s face _‘I just, I thought it meant something was wrong, with me. I thought it mean I didn’t have a soulmate, and I didn’t want to think I was broken or-‘_

 

Enjolras breaks off when he feels Grantaire’s hand on his arm, opening his eyes he sees Grantaire looks horrified.

 

‘ _No’_ he signs, opening his hand wide, bringing his thumb and fingers together sharply, practically shouting his disagreement, ‘ _no,’_ he signs again, smaller, ‘ _no, there is nothing wrong with you, even if you didn’t have a soulmate, even if you don’t, there is nothing wrong with you Enjolras. You are perfect, you are brilliant. You’re so smart, and you care so much about so many things, and you read my rambles like they are worth something, you’re opinionated, and even I can see how loud you are, how determined you are to make yourself heard. There is nothing wrong with you Enjolras ’_

 

‘ _Do I?’_ Enjolras asks, seeing Grantaire look slightly confused he tries again, ‘ _Do I have a soulmate? I mean,’_ deep breath, _‘Are you my soulmate Grantaire?’_

 

It feels like nothing moves while he waits for Grantaire to answer, like his heart stopped beating and the galaxies stopped expanding like the very matter that made up the universe came to stop to hear the answer.

_‘Yes._ ’

 

Grantaire had barely finished the sign before Enjolras had lunged toward him, everything starting back up again. Enjolras gathers R into his arms, pulling him tight against his chest, relishing the feeling of Grantaire’ arms coming up around his waist, bending his head towards Grantaire’s whispering “I love you” over and over into his hair until he gathers the courage to pull back and say it to his face.

 

“I love you.” He says and signs at the same time, needing the universe to hear him say it even if Grantaire can’t.

 

The smile that breaks out on Grantaire’s face when he sees it is like nothing Enjolras has ever seen before, and suddenly he doesn’t mind all the pain and frustration at the world that it took to get to this point, nothing matters, nothing can compare to that smile that radiates pure joy.

 

He doesn’t know who moves first, if it’s him or Grantaire, maybe it’s both, perhaps they moved towards each other perfectly in sync with each other at last. However it happened, however they moved, now they were kissing. Nothing fiery or passionate with tongues and open mouths as Enjolras always imagined the first kiss with a soulmate would be, but soft, and sweet, mouths together, sharing the same breath, it felt like coming home. It felt like being whole at last.

 

It didn’t take long for them to fall onto the couch together, curled up in one and other like any space was too much space, like every part of them was supposed to be touching, like they fit together; two pieces of a puzzle having finally found their place. They sat in silence for what felt like a long time, it could have been minutes, it could have been an eternity. Simply sitting, and touching, and breathing the same air.

 

There was some small part of Enjolras’ mind that felt it ridiculously sappy and overly romantic, but mostly he was just happy to finally be here, to finally have this so he didn’t care, and surely he could be as ridiculously sappy and romantic as he wanted considering the time it took to get to this point.

 

Eventually they stopped holding so tightly, moved back just far enough to be able to talk. As much as Enjolras didn’t want to, wanted to just be happy a while longer, there were things that needed to be discussed, things he needed to ask. As Bahorel would say, they needed to communicate before they both ended up dead in some messed up accidental double suicide.

 

‘ _Why didn’t you tell me?’_ he asked, not accusing, just questioning.

 

Grantaire sighed, and brought a hand up to rub over his face. ‘ _I wanted to. I wanted to as soon as you spoke to me, but I didn’t know how. What if you didn’t believe me? What if it was just some insane coincidence? And then, by the time I decided I should, that it couldn’t be a coincidence, not with the way I felt drawn to you, you told me about the meetings.’_

_‘Meetings?’_ Enjolras asked.

 

‘ _The meetings for people whose soulmates had died.’_

_‘Right?’_ He let the confusion he felt show on his face.

 

‘ _You were going to meetings for people who didn’t have soulmates Enjolras.’_ He signs, raising his eyebrows at Enjolras like he should be understanding something that he clearly wasn’t.

 

An awful thought suddenly occurs to Enjolras.

_‘Oh god, when Bahorel said you had found your soulmate but he didn’t want you. That was me. You thought I didn’t want you.’_

 

Grantaire nods, a sad little self-deprecating smile on his face.

 

‘ _Before that I thought you had to be my soulmate but then I thought; ‘maybe I’m wrong.’ ‘Maybe I’m right but he doesn’t know.’ ‘Maybe he doesn’t want a soulmate.’ ‘Maybe he doesn’t want me.’_

_‘No, no Grantaire, I could never not want you. I just, I didn’t know.’_

 

A huff that could be laughter.

 

‘ _Yes, I get that now, but at the time . . . well I just didn’t know.’_

_‘Those bloody meetings. I never should have agreed to go to them. All they’ve caused is trouble.’_

 

Grantaire’s smile this time was bright, teasing.

_‘I don’t know . . . if you weren’t on your way to those meetings, you wouldn’t have stopped by the Corinth that night, maybe you wouldn’t have known about the pun, maybe you wouldn’t have said those words and we wouldn’t be here now?’_ He takes Enjolras’ hand in his own and brings it to his lips, brushing a light kiss against his hand, perfectly demonstrating exactly where they are now.

_‘The world works the way the world works.’_ Enjolras says.

_‘Bahorel?’_ Grantaire asks, eyes crinkling in laughter.

_‘Bahorel.’_ Enjolras agrees with a nod. _‘But wait, if you’re my soulmate, then you’re my soulmate, so surely I determine what the words are rather than the words determining who I am. So even without the meeting we would have met, I just would have possibly said different words.’_

_‘But, the words are what they are so you have to have said those words. The words were there first after all.’_

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised, not really, at how easily they fell into the debate, how they moved on to a debate on pre determinism and free will, only to move on again. He shouldn’t have been surprised at how familiar it felt debating with him even sitting with Grantaire in his arms each manoeuvring around the other to sign clearly. He shouldn’t have been surprised, after all they were soulmates, they had always been soulmates, it really should have been obvious from the beginning, and maybe it was, maybe he had just been too close at the time to see it.

 

The five year anniversary of meeting your soulmate is ink. Most people give each other books, or art, some get tattoos. Enjolras hadn’t even had to think about what he was going to get Grantaire, every other year he had struggled to think what he should give Grantaire.

 

For their paper anniversary he considered a copy of the Iliad, or maybe a new sketch book. Eventually he settled on a scrap book of the arguments he had kept from after they first met, Grantaire gave him what was left of the yellow legal pad he had written those arguments on and laughed at the similarity of their gifts. He had similar struggles for their cotton, leather, and silk anniversaries, though in the end Grantaire always loved whatever Enjolras had gotten him.

 

But for their fifth anniversary, for ink, he knew exactly what he was going to get him. It hurt slightly, getting the words tattooed on his ribs, of course Grantaire’s words had to be on his ribs, couldn’t have been in a nice fleshy place like his arm. But it was worth it.

 

Worth it for the wonder he saw on Grantaire’s face when he first saw the tattoo, worth it for the reverent way he traced them with his fingers. Worth it for finally being able to look in the mirror and see his soulmate’s words tattooed into his skin.

 

Bahorel gave out a great booming laugh when he saw the words;

_‘So you are friends with Bahorel? What was that about you loser, first words to your soulmate and they are about me.’_ He laughs again, throwing his head back.

_‘I was flustered, I didn’t know what to say, it’s the final proof that I don’t do well under pressure.’_

 

He pulled Grantaire in wrapping one arm around his should bringing his head down to Bahorel’s chest and rubbing a hand through his hair before pushing him away playfully signing _‘Yeah its proof alright, proof I was destined to get you two idiots to sort your shit out.’_

 

Enjolras laughed along with them. It was proof of something destined after all, it was proof that Enjolras and Grantaire were destined for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, so as I said in the last chapter three years, literally THREE YEARS!! I cannot believe how long it took me to finish this, but even more than that I cannot believe how many of you stuck with it and kept reading and leaving such lovely comments! I love you all so much, and you have all been so wonderful and brilliant and honestly your comments have meant the world to me, and even when I just could not write this cause the world was to difficult for me to be a person in, sometimes I would come back to read some of the comments cause they just made me feel so happy. So thank you, truly, you will never know how much the things you guys have said have meant to me. I haven't replied to comments individually in a while, but if I have time over the next wee while I might try to, just know, even if I don't reply your comment means the world to me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this final chapter, it is sappy and a ridiculous, but I decided Enjolras and Grantaire were allowed to be sappy and ridiculous and have the universe stop for them it did after all take three years to get to this point.
> 
> Also I kind of had to re-read this to remember everything cause it has been so long and I noticed there are quite a few grammar errors and spelling stuff so thanks for putting up with it and at some point I will hopefully go over it and fix them.
> 
> Sorry for the super long end note! And thank you all again. I hope you have wonderful and happy lives <3 <3 <3


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